


Repent of Your Sins

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Dark Dean Winchester, Evil Dean Winchester, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, season 8 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:06:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU from the end of Season 8.</p><p>When Cas returns to Dean and Sam, human, confused, disoriented and scared, they take him in. What else can they do? </p><p>But Dean is still harboring some resentments. Sam is still sick and damaged from the trials, and Dean feels that Cas is to blame for much of what's happened to them in the past couple of years - things he's never really made amends for...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Summary taken from original prompt. PLEASE heed the archive warnings! There is graphic rape and physical, mental and sexual abuse. Unlike canon, Dean is not at all a good person in this one.

It was Cas at the door.  
  
The mere fact that he hadn't simply appeared in the middle of their living room told Dean everything he needed to know.  
  
He looked like a drowned cat, soaked in rain that seemed to have fallen with the sole purpose of making him look as forlorn as humanly -  _humanly,_  Dean thought with a jolt - possible, with hair dripping into his eyes, scuffed knees and dirty grazes on his palms.  
  
"I need your help." Cas' rough voice cut through the patter of rain, and it was such an echo of the same words just two years ago that Dean would have laughed if he hadn't spent the last day and a half making sure Sam wasn't dying.  
  
"I thought you were dead," Dean breathed, the words slipping out without his permission. "Holy fuck, Cas, I thought you were dead."  
  
He didn't know if he was relieved, or if it just felt like the battle never ended. Because the next question on his lips was,  _why aren't you dead yet?_  
  
Every single time Cas ended up on their doorstep like this, looking hurt or scared or regretful... it usually meant the Winchesters had to go clean up another Heavenly mess. But they didn't have time to deal with this on top of everything else - for god's sake, Sam could be dying in the next room for all he knew! Didn't that say enough about how worn out they all were? How sick they were of where Cas' mistakes led them?  
  
"Please," Cas interrupted Dean's thoughts with a plaintive word. He was still shuddering in the doorway, eyes skittering to and from Dean's.  
  
What could he do except step aside to let Cas in?  
  
"Come on, Cas. We've gotta get you dry and warmed up," Dean sighed, tugging Cas inside by one soaked tan sleeve when the ex-angel didn't move. After all, Sam was asleep, and Dean had to do  _something_  to keep himself too busy to fret over his brother, so he stayed to fret over his angel instead, while Cas shuffled around in the living room.

At least, he’d _thought_ he was going to fret. Something about that earlier realisation took all the motivation out of him. He left to grab towels and clean, dry clothes from the closet with lumbering, mechanical movements, coming back to find Cas still indecisively drifting around the room.  
  
"I... I didn't know where else to go," Cas admitted as he moved closer to the couch, then away again, hesitant. He seemed to finally decide upon sinking into the couch, wet coat leaving streaks of water across the fabric. He let out a shaky breath and slumped forward, burying his face into his hands before he realised the cuts on the skin there still existed and still, in the most human way possible, _hurt_.   
  
Cas might have looked tired, but Dean was pretty sure he and Sam were at the point of total  _exhaustion_ , so.  
  
"Yeah, well, it's not like you can flutter back home any more, huh?" Dean snorted, the words sounding harsher than he really meant. Cas' eyes snapped to his in an instant, burning with hurt and confusion, before they drifted away again in quiet acquiescence. His mouth opened as if to say something, but shut again before any word came out. Instead, he just looked down at his hands, folding and unfolding them in his lap.  
  
Dean was sick of watching Cas' hurt puppy act. He threw the towels over at Cas and marched away. "I'm gonna go check on Sam. You get yourself cleaned up."  
  
Cas didn't even say thanks, the ungrateful bastard. Or if he did, Dean never heard it, already halfway down the hallway towards Sam's room where he could hear another awful, bloody coughing fit.

 

* * *

 

  

When Sam woke up the next morning to make coffee, he almost had a heart attack.  
  
The last thing he’d expected to see was Castiel lying slumped over on the couch, dressed in their old flannel shirts with the buttons done up wrong and jeans half-heartedly zipped up over his hips. He thought he was hallucinating, but no, it really was _Cas_ , snoring lightly with a towel over his hair, scrunched in one hand as if he'd fallen asleep in the middle of drying it.  
  
He didn't remember Dean ever mentioning that Cas had finally turned up, but he didn't remember _much_ of last night. Mostly just a stabbing headache and coughing his lungs out, to be honest.  
  
He crept over quietly, debating whether or not to wake Cas, when the angel - angel? - startled awake.  
  
"I -- Sam?" Cas asked blearily, and Sam tried to force a smile in greeting. It really was great to see Cas again, but his head was still pounding and he only had a few minutes before Dean tried to convince him to stay in bed all day with a mug of chicken soup and a box of tissues again. As if this was just a cold or something. But neither of them knew how to make this any better, and no amount of painkillers or cough syrup could work against something on a... a _subatomic_ level, as Dean had told him.  
  
"I'm so glad you're here, Cas. Dean said all the angels were falling and I thought... Wait, when did you come in? I don't remember Dean saying you arrived," Sam asked, trying to get his thoughts into order.  
  
To his surprise Cas looked utterly stricken at his words. "The angels, they... I'm so sorry. I should have listened to Dean, he told me -- I was a coward, I -- I'm sorry, Sam. For everything. For what happened to you. The trials to close Hell..."  
  
Sam's eyes widened at the sudden onslaught of apologies. "Whoa, Cas, no. It's not your fault. Maybe you should get some rest, I'll go tell Dean you're awake. You don't have anything to apologise for."  
  
"Yeah, I don't know about that," suddenly came Dean's voice from behind him. "Come on, Sammy, what are you doing up here? You've gotta take care of yourself!"   
  
He turned to Dean with a sigh, putting on a brave face. "I'm fine, Dean. Really. You should be looking out for yourself too, I know you've been running yourself ragged over this." Besides, it wasn’t so bad that he had to be led around the bunker by the hand like a child, or safely corralled in his room like he was on his deathbed. Right?  
  
"Yeah, well, you didn't see how you looked last night," Dean grunted as he gently nudged Sam back towards his room. That, Sam could concede, was true. And after everything, some part of him still wanted to go back to being six-year-old Sammy, being looked after by Dean and not having to worry about how he'd let Dean down again, or started the apocalypse, or...  
  
Without warning, he hunched over in another fit of coughing, each movement feeling like it had been torn out of him.   
  
When it finally subsided, he let himself be hurried away by Dean without another word of protest. Maybe he was feeling a lot worse than he'd thought.

 

* * *

 

Dean was furious when he came back down to the living room to find Cas still on the couch, sitting up now but otherwise looking like nothing had fucking happened at all.  
  
"You just don't care, do you? Sam could be dead and you wouldn't even give a damn," Dean snapped, anger rising at the sight of Cas so nonchalant.  
  
"What? Dean, of course I --"   
  
"Really? Did you even _see_ how crappy Sam looked? Just 'cause he's not going after the gates of Hell any more doesn't mean he's suddenly running at a hundred percent. And if you couldn't heal him before, you're certainly not any more useful now. Goddammit Cas, what good is your doomsday prophecy 'he's too damaged for me to heal' bullshit if you can't even..."  
  
Dean stopped and took a deep breath, scrubbing a hand over his face and counting to ten. He just wanted Sam to be okay, damn it, and _nothing_ and _no one_ was telling him what he could do about it. They might have talked things out together, found common ground with each other again, but that was useless if his Sammy was about to die of some celestial disease.   
  
What if it was too late for him to get better?  
  
"I don't know if he'll be okay, Dean. I'm sorry," Castiel murmured from his place on the couch, staring down at the floor again.  
  
"Yeah, you say that a lot."  
  
He watched as Cas shifted and fidgeted with the towel in his hands, looking uncomfortable. Distressed, even.  
  
"I don't know what else to say. There's no way I can make it up to you," Cas answered with some reluctance.

The words made Dean's anger kick back up again. "How would you know? You haven't even tried. You didn’t try then, and you won’t try now."  
  
Because that was the truth. This was _at least_ the second time it had happened, and Cas might have been full of promises of "I'll make it up to you, Dean, I swear" and "I said I'm sorry and I meant it" and all that crap, but when it came down to it, he never followed through.

And now Sam was dying, the angels had fallen, there were probably still a few rogue Leviathan running around, and Cas' old bed buddy Crowley had just offed a heap of innocent people. All thanks to the long-term fallout of all that Purgatory business.  
  
Cas stood from the couch, moving closer and searching to meet Dean's eyes. It was that weird eye-sexing thing Cas used to love doing, but Dean had no time for it, so he just glared back and it ended then and there.  
  
"I truly wish to make it up to you, Dean. I _will_ try. You need only tell me what you want, and I'll do it." He sounded so earnest that Dean was struck with the urge to hit him. The stupid angel-human-thing still thought he could earn forgiveness or something like that? Well, he had another thought coming. He probably had the idea that Dean would melt from the sentiment alone and be all nice about it.

But Dean was well and truly sick of putting up with all this shit from Cas and his Heavenly cohort now, and after what happened to Sam, he wasn't afraid to show it any more.  
  
"You want to make amends, then? Repent and beg for forgiveness? Haven't you fallen a bit far for that?" Dean mocked.

But… some part of him mulled the idea over in his head. This was the least Castiel owed them, and Dean had his doubts about Cas being able to achieve any of it, but all his bitterness and anger had finally boiled over. He knew, if Cas really felt a single shred of regret for all this, then...  
  
"Yes," Cas answered plainly, “Yes to all of it.”

That was all the permission Dean ever needed.  
  
"Fine. Good. You want to make up for all the shit you've pulled since we met, right? Then I'll be right there behind you. Sounds good to me."  
  
Far from being surprised by Dean's quick turnaround, Castiel's shoulders simply slumped in relief and he breathed out a quiet "Thank you, Dean."

And so, it began.


	2. Chapter 2

A week later, Sam wasn't much better, and Dean was almost at the end of his rope.  
  
"I'll be fine, Dean, seriously. It probably just takes some time," Sam said, wiping at red rimmed eyes and suppressing a cough that Dean could tell was still trying to fight its way out of Sam's lungs. It made his stomach turn in worry.  
  
Neither of them needed to say that they didn't actually know if this was something that 'just took time'. Or how much time it _would_ take. Sam looked healthier, but only marginally so. What if it ended up being years before Sam got better? What if this was just the upwards tilt before everything went to shit and Dean lost him again?  
  
"Probably," he muttered in agreement anyway while he tried to fluff one of the pillows back to life, feeling only a little stupid for it. Sam knew not to tease him for it, and Dean would have hugged him in gratitude regardless of any chick flick moment stuff if it weren't for the fact that Sam was tucked neatly under the sheets. All he could do was take care of Sam as well as he could.

But with the scarce amount of information they had now, that wasn't well at all. Certainly not to Dean's standards.  
  
"Just get some rest, Sammy," he said, unable to get anything else out.  
  
"That was the plan," Sam quipped with a weak smile. "Why, what are you gonna do?"  
  
"I'm gonna go see what Cas is up to. He's been quiet for way too long," Dean answered, collecting the used plates and mug from the bedside table. It was true - and so much for that whole repentance spiel, which Dean thought he probably should have expected. Cas just buried himself in the bunker library from morning to night now, coming out as little as possible.  
  
"Okay." Sam pressed a palm to his forehead to fight off a wave of dizzying nausea, then rearranged himself further down on the bed. "Don't worry so much about me. I'm getting better, aren't I?"  
  
"Guess so." Dean didn't want to talk about it more than that. Talking wouldn't have solved a thing, anyway.  
  
He went out to the kitchen to scrub the dishes clean, then leaned on the counter and held his temper for all of fifteen seconds before he landed a vicious kick at the cupboard door. The sound echoed back at him, and he swore.  
  
It was ridiculous. A week after their little conversation about making amends for everything, and that was all it took for Cas to forget all about it. Where was he when Dean was running up and down the stairs with ice to break Sam's fever? Where was he when Dean was trying not to panic over Sam passing out in the goddamn hallway on the way out to get something from the Impala? Useless fucking angel. 

  
Fueled again by anger, he marched his way down to the library and pounded on the door.  
  
"I know you're in there, Cas. Open up!" he yelled through the varnished wood, seconds from knocking down the door in his impatience.  
  
It took a second for Cas to open the door, peering up at Dean and blinking owlishly, dark smears from lack of sleep under his eyes. Only a second, but it was still a second too long for Dean's tastes.  
  
"Can I help you with something?" Cas asked mildly, infuriatingly.  
  
"Jesus, I don't know, Cas. Can you?" he sneered, scoffing at the responding blank look. Yep, Cas had definitely completely forgotten already.  
  
"I will try my best," Cas finally answered with a solemn look, after a hesitant pause.  
  
"Will you? Cause that's what you said a week ago and it doesn't look like your best is much."  
  
"I -- "  
  
"No, seriously, Cas. What the hell is wrong with you? What's so important about this pile of books that you've completely forgotten about everything else you've made a complete mess of?" Dean had raised his voice too loudly and too quickly; he could see it in the way Cas suddenly flinched back and cast a glance towards the door.

But there were no footsteps thudding down to see what the fuss was, no other soul coming to break up the impending fight. It was just them in here, the soundproofed walls something Dean had already learnt to enjoy about this place.  
  
"I haven't forgotten," Cas retorted, sounding so petulant it raised Dean's hackles. "I was doing research."  
  
Dean could only stare in disbelief at that. "Research. Is that so? About what, exactly?"  
  
"Sam --"  
  
"So now you remember Sam! Sorry, that excuse isn't gonna fly here.” He clenched his fists, rage boiling under his skin. “You think we haven't gone through every single book in here with a fine tooth comb already? You think _I_ haven't gone through it all trying to find a way to fix it yet? It's all useless!"

His hand shot out and he scattered the books onto the ground in one harsh movement, sheets of yellowing paper tearing and spilling out onto the floor. He couldn't remember being so... so angry, frustrated and stressed out ever before in his life. For all the knowledge crammed into this room, and all the hours he’d spent endlessly searching for a solution to a problem that should never have existed in the first place, there was _nothing he could do_ to help Sam. And Cas thought _he_ could be any more useful? A stupid fallen angel, a grown man who couldn’t even do up his own buttons right?

From the corner of his eye, he saw Cas reach out to save a book from the table and clutch it tightly, the binding almost splitting with the amount of notes already crammed between its pages. As if Cas really believed he'd accomplished something in all that wasted time down here.   
  
Dean tore it out of his hands, the painstakingly neat handwritten notes falling out and crumpling beneath his feet as he stepped forward to grab Cas' lapels.

The moment he realised he'd done it, he instinctively shirked back, about to apologise lest the almighty angel strike him down for his insolence and disrespect… but nothing happened.

Because, Dean remembered, Cas was just a weak, skinny human now. And he sort of liked it that way. They were on equal standing now, in terms of species anyway.  
  
Dean went back to the task at hand, only more determined to shout Cas down now that he knew he  _could_. "You know what, maybe you think you can do a better job because you're all holy and mighty. That worked out so well for you last time. Remember that, Cas? When you broke Sam's wall, then went ahead and set all the Leviathan loose on us? Bet you had a great time playing God there. It really got your rocks off, killing all those people, huh?"  
  
Cas' wince at the words felt all too good. Let him stew over that for a while, Dean thought. He'd never had the chance to really rip into Cas for it and it was long overdue.  
  
"I'm truly sorry, Dean, for everything. If..."  
  
Dean shook Cas once, hard, by his grip on the front of the newly-human's shirt. "Shut up, Cas. We both know you don't mean it. Didn't then, and still don't now. Otherwise you would've learnt something after the _first_ time you majorly screwed us over."  
  
It only took a moment before Cas went limp in his hands, looking defeated and on the edge of tears. Good. Why should Dean be the only one suffering over this, after all? If Cas was serious about this atonement thing, then he had better be ready to suffer for it. It was fair enough. 'Sorry' only went so far.  
  
He let go once he was sure Cas wouldn't say anything again, and shoved him into the wall just for good measure.  
  
"You really wanna help, then clean up after yourself for once in your goddamn life." Dean kicked the papers scattered across the floor in Cas' general direction, then turned his back and left.  
  
He didn't need to look at Cas' expression to feel the thrill of satisfaction that came from finally getting to put him in his place. It was about time he made Cas earn his forgiveness.

 

* * *

After Dean's... word with him in the library, Castiel didn't know if it was a good idea to come out and eat dinner with the two brothers that evening. But skipping meals as a human took more willpower than he found he had. When his stomach began to complain incessantly of being empty ever since he found the small packet of biscuits in the kitchen the night before, and the smell of fresh, hot food drifted through to the library where he still hid like a stowaway rat, he couldn't stop himself from meekly asking if he could join them at the dining table.

"Of course you can, Cas! Come on, sit here, grab a plate - oh, and try Dean's chicken kiev! It's honestly amazing," Sam had immediately answered, pushing a chair out for him with one long leg and urging him to sit. But he still hesitated, seeing the unhappy twist to Dean's mouth which went unnoticed to Sam.  
  
Sam was too kind to him, still so welcoming despite all the grave wrongs Castiel had committed against him. He felt a prickle of shame behind his eyes and thought of his wasted hours behind the books in the dusty library. No doubt Sam had already pored over each one with Dean long before Cas arrived, so weak and useless. Dean had been right about that, and many other things too.  
  
"I'm sorry, Sam. I haven't been helping you or Dean at all through this. I wish I could do more," he confessed as he obediently sat, staring down at the dishes in front of him. They looked and smelled beautiful, a labour of love from Dean... Certainly not meant for him, as he looked up to see Dean's scowl with a pang.  
  
Sam only smiled at him. Though it made Cas feel like a coward, it was easier to look at Sam rather than Dean, so that was what he did.  
  
"Don't worry about it, man. It won't be long before I'm good again, and besides, you've got some recovery to do too. I know it's - uh - I suppose it's different to what you're used to?" Sam shrugged, and Cas felt warmed by his casual forgiveness, and the awkward hedging around the topic of his Fall. Again, he thought, Sam was too kind. No matter what, Cas  _would_  make amends for what he'd done. It was the very least of what he owed them, and he told them as much.  
  
"That reminds me, Cas, how exactly did the repentance thing work back in Heaven? You know, before all the residents got massacred and evicted," Dean piped up, sounding for all the world like he was asking about the weather as he took Cas' empty plate and began piling samples of food onto it, discontentment in every move. Sam blinked at him, surprised at the bluntness even coming from Dean. "A few Hail Marys and you were done, or what?"  
  
Cas' mouth suddenly went dry and he had to swallow a few times before he spoke. "We -- they -- it was not like that." Sick guilt clawed at his insides even as he tried to focus on Dean's question - not the massacre or the eviction, as it had been put. Not the hundreds of brothers and sisters he had murdered as a false god filled with hubris, nor those he had doomed to Earth with his unforgivable ignorance and pride. And then there was all the hurt he'd caused to Dean, going after everyone he cared about with such ruthlessness and selfishness. Despite everything, as illogical as it was, that was what he regretted the most.   
  
He suddenly didn't feel hungry at all.  
  
"Well? What's the answer, Cas?" Dean prompted again, pulling him from the loop of thoughts going through his mind.  
  
"There was no concept of free will, and not quite any repentance as it exists here. It was… _ensured_ that we confessed and changed our ways so as to remain a servant of our Father," he finished, unable to meet Dean's eyes as he did so. Being human lent a sharp emotionality to all things and he was shocked to find he felt an unjustified pride in once being an angel, mixed with the biting guilt and shame... and no small amount of dread, too. Had he failed Dean to such an extent that Dean wanted to take pointers from Heaven's way of atonement? Cas had been intentionally vague on the exact methods of 'ensuring', though he knew most of them were impossible on this physical plane anyway. It was an illogical fear, but a fear nonetheless.  
  
"Huh, Bible Camp again. Pretty interesting," Dean said as he handed the plate of food back to Cas, seeming to dismiss the topic as quickly as it had arose. Why put him through such memories for something so trivial?  
  
He didn't want to eat anymore but he wanted to attract more of Dean's attention even less, so he choked the food down until he felt sick and tried to ignore Sam's pitying gaze.

It was undeserved, anyway. He'd caused far more suffering than he'd ever experienced himself.


	3. Chapter 3

 

It took all of three days for the shift in Dean's behaviour to make Cas snap.  
  
" _Why are you doing this to me?_ " he shouted, trying desperately to block Dean's way before he could leave and throw another bag - filled with the few bird feathers, pebbles, small trinkets that Castiel found - into the garbage. "If you think I'm being useless, or I can't do anything right, why can't you just  _tell me_? Why do you have to destroy everything I have?"  
  
It was the wrong thing to say. He didn't register Dean's fist slamming into the side of his mouth until it sent him sprawling against the floor, bones shuddering from the impact.  
  
"You're really one to talk, you know that? That's the  _exact_  same thing I wanted to ask when you were jumped up on all those souls. That whole year you were running around loose with Crowley, you have no idea how bad that was. Except the difference is, I guess we actually wanted to help you!  _We_  weren't taking strolls around the park when  _you_  were the one falling apart from the inside out!"  
  
Cas scrambled to sit up as Dean came closer, leaning hard against one empty bookshelf as he tried to steady himself.  
  
"And you cannot seriously be asking why this is happening. I know you're not that stupid. Or maybe you really don't care enough to remember," Dean continued, crouching down only inches from Cas. He shrank away, not wanting to earn another hit, hands up in a helpless attempt at defense.  
  
"I do remember. Atonement, making amends, earning forgiveness. I'm trying, I  _am_. I want to fix it --" His words came out without his control, slightly garbled from the shock of pain in his jaw.  
  
Dean snorted and cut him off. "What, with this?" he asked, picking up an old junk food receipt, symbols drawn across the back in careful script, a protection spell once folded neatly behind a desk drawer. He scrunched it up and tossed it over his shoulder. "Some stupid lucky charm? Fat lot of good it does, if Sam's still sick and our only nuclear deterrent's turned into this weakling. And don't even get me start on all the junk you've collected. Who said you could bring all this stuff here, huh?"  
  
He nudged Cas with his foot. Cas swallowed, wincing at the words as much as the blood building in his mouth from his split lip.  
  
"Besides, you can't fix jack shit, Cas. That's not how our repentance thing is gonna work, not while you’re like _this_. If you fell with half a brain cell between your ears, you would've worked it out by now."  
  
Dean looked him up and down again, then got up and disappeared from Cas' room without another word. Cas waited, frozen, fearful that Dean would return with another plastic bag to fill, but it never happened.  
  
Alone now, he stared down at the last few possessions he had left, and finally saw how meaningless and childish they were. A fancy but broken fountain pen, a magpie feather, and a smooth, reflective pebble he found near the river. Things he picked up when he stole away from the bunker to take a walk, pathetically looking for anything to remind him of what he no longer deserved to call home. Just small things - things that wouldn't bother Dean, things he thought he'd be allowed to have despite the horrific laundry list of sins he'd committed.  
  
Dean's anger was justified, he concluded eventually. Cas had no right to take a holiday and wander around aimlessly while there was still so much to do. He might have been unable to help with the situation in the bunker, but that didn't make his leisurely walks any less of a slap in the face to Dean or Sam.  
  
The guilt of this too, on top of everything else, made him feel rotten to the core. But he was weak, and he still couldn't get rid of what he had left - maybe it was a human thing, such attachment to petty objects. So, lip bleeding sluggishly and head still spinning, he slowly gathered his things and hid them away again - under his bed this time, like a child would.  
  
His face hurt badly where Dean had struck him, but in the face of his paralysing regret and his wariness of running into Dean again if he looked for the first aid kit, he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it. He just sat back down on the carpet and accepted it all. With everything he'd done and all the chaos he'd brought about, it seemed fair. An angel reduced to a stress ball or a chew toy at best, trying hopelessly to atone for its sins.

 

* * *

 

Sometime later, for the first time in far too long, Sam had a good day.   
  
He'd been up and around since afternoon, offered to get the groceries - which Dean had staunchly refused to allow, citing some unknown purchase from years ago consisting only of rabbit food while his eyes betrayed his worry - and even helped make dinner that evening, telling Dean to take a break for once in his life. The mood in the bunker was noticeably lighter in a way Castiel had never seen before, and he found it wonderful.  
  
When the joy died down into a sort of fragile serenity in the later hours of the day, Sam and Cas sat alone outside, watching the stars that now held a wildly different meaning for each man. Or at least, that was what Castiel assumed - he wasn't entirely sure that Sam looked up and similarly saw  _this is what you did to Heaven, you listened to a traitor and now everyone you've ever fought for is either dead by your hand or terrified and lost and abandoned in a world they have not known since these stars guided the Magi to Bethlehem._  
  
"Well, I'm definitely coughing less. And it doesn't hurt so much," Sam shrugged when Cas inquired after his health that evening. Dean had certainly been noticeably happier. Or at least, Dean hadn't inflicted any new injuries yet that day.  
  
"I'm glad," Cas said sincerely. "If I were still an angel, perhaps I could have eased your suffering these last few weeks, or even heal you completely, now that the Trials have stopped. I'm sorry I haven't been of much help." Dean had made sure to remind him of that. "And I'm sorry I made this happen to you."  
  
Sam's eyes widened in surprise, as they did every time Cas tried to apologise. In a way, Cas was glad for it. Better that than some new punishment. But that was utterly selfish, when they both should have known perfectly well that Cas was to blame. "It's not your fault. We're the ones who tried to close the doors to Hell and all that," Sam argued.  
  
"But if I hadn't released the Leviathan, then we would not have found the tablets, so you --"  
  
Sam laughed but it was good-natured, in a way Cas hadn't heard for a long time. Not mocking or cruel, just friendly. "You could go on forever with that kind of thing, though. Seriously, Cas, it's not your fault. I mean... if you really want to talk about it, then it's _my_ fault for starting the apocalypse in the first place." At this, his face fell a little, and it was clear he didn't truly believe he was innocent.  
  
Cas would have jumped to defend Sam's actions - the awful memory of opening the door to the panic room not far from his thoughts - but Sam went on before he had the chance. "Anyway, that's not a good way to think about things. Believe me. All this stuff that’s happening... it's not because of whatever mistakes you made, or I made, or whoever. It just _is_ , and all we can do is live with it. Survive."

They sat in silence for a while, Sam taking a gulp from his beer while Cas sat peacefully beside him under the darkening evening sky, thinking over what had been said. It was so different from what Dean had been telling him, and Cas' first instinct was to reject the words, no matter how much he personally wanted to believe them.  
  
Besides... even if Sam was right about him not being at fault, that wouldn't change how Dean treated him. One direct confrontation with the man who used to be his closest friend -  _was_   _still_ his closest friend - had been more than enough. Castiel was not about to cause more trouble for himself so willingly.  
  
He raised his hand to the almost-faded bruise at his mouth without conscious thought, spurred by the memory. It was accompanied by fresher marks now; a deep purple oval around the curve of his eye that was still tender, and the imprint of Dean's hand around his arm where he'd been dragged from his room one morning, hidden by a shirt sleeve.  
  
He poked at it absently, wondering at the low ache, until he saw Sam staring out of the corner of his eye.  
  
The beer bottle clinked as Sam put it back down on the step where they sat. "Cas, I've been meaning to ask you something," he began slowly, "Have you been doing okay lately? I mean, I guess I don't see you much, but you've been looking really..." He waved his hand around his face and it was enough to make Cas freeze up immediately.

The bruises. The grazes. Minor injuries scattered all over him – of _course_ Sam would notice.  
  
"No. It's nothing. I," he almost stuttered, "I'm not used to being human yet. I'm clumsy." It sounded awkward and fake even to his own ears.

"Okay," Sam nodded, if a little skeptically. "What happened to your eye, then?"  
  
"Nothing. It's..." he fished for an explanation, trying not to let the panic show in his voice. "It's an embarrassing story, that is all. It's nothing to be concerned about."  
  
His heart pounded while he waited for Sam's verdict. Please let him believe it, please let him think Cas had just knocked into a cupboard door or misjudged a tree branch or something trivial. He felt safe with Sam, as selfish as it was, and the last thing he wanted was for Sam to find out about Castiel's attempt to make amends. Dean was affording him a kindness in not telling Sam yet. There was no doubt about it; given everything Cas had done, Sam would be taking Dean's side if he ever found out what was happening. And if they _both_ did this to him...

It didn't matter what kind of repentance this was, Cas knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it.  
  
Sam seemed appeased enough, after a moment of consideration that left Cas increasingly nervous.  
  
"Okay... well, take care of yourself. You're my friend, and I'm gonna worry when you look so beat up like that," he said with a hint of reluctance, before he smiled and knocked Cas playfully on the shoulder. "Maybe we should put padding on the furniture or something, keep you safe from all those sharp corners?"  
  
Cas laughed, but he didn't know if it sounded genuine.

 

* * *

 

 Late into the night, long after they'd finished their beer and decided to turn in for some sleep, Dean entered Castiel's room. At least, that was what Cas assumed. He only knew that the first thing he saw when he ripped himself out of another nightmare was Dean standing near the doorway. Perhaps Dean had been woken by his sleeptalking - one of his many flaws, though he couldn't fix this one either.  
  
"I woke you again. I'm sorry," he said, the apology already near-instinctive. It had to have been the nightmares and talking again. It wasn't light outside yet, so it couldn't have been Dean coming to slap him awake for sleeping in again.  
  
Dean was silent for a long time. Then he only stepped closer, much to Castiel's bewilderment.  
  
"Have a good day today?" he finally asked, like he was talking about the weather, as Cas simply frowned in confusion.  
  
"I... suppose, yes. Sam looks much better now," Cas tried to answer correctly, but it was impossible to know what Dean was getting at. There was something dangerous in the other man's voice, something Cas couldn't identify in his half-asleep state. He tried to shake himself awake, not willing to be so placid and vague while Dean was in the room. It didn't pay well, as he'd learnt.  
  
"Hm." It sounded like agreement but Cas couldn't be sure.  
  
Dean stepped closer again until he was standing in front of Cas' bed, his face unreadable. He moved without warning, making Cas flinch in anticipation of pain, but the only change was the light of the bedside lamp flooding the room. Then Dean's eyes flickered up and down over Cas' body, no blankets shielding him from the gaze.  
  
He felt like a slab of meat, beginning to shiver under Dean's scrutiny despite the warmth of the room. This was strange, and too different from Dean's usual frustrated shouting and unpredictable violence for Castiel's comfort.  
  
The look on Dean's face became unsettling, too blank and guarded for Cas to read. The silence, too.  
  
Cas broke first. "Should I get --"  
  
Dean cut over him as usual, apparently content to speak now that Cas had given in to the silence first. "No. You're going to stay there and do exactly as I say, or else you can make it a lot harder for yourself than it needs to be."  
  
It only confused Cas further, but he nodded, if a little reluctantly. He didn't trust the dark look in Dean's eyes; something about it seemed all too familiar, and not in a comforting way. If anything, it made him feel like prey, being circled by a hungry animal.  
  
"Good." There was the barest hint of a smile - more a smirk - on Dean's lips. "Lie back down."

Cas did so, arms twitching restlessly by his sides. He didn't know how but the position was uncomfortable, making him vulnerable, unable to protect the soft skin of his body. But Dean hadn't done anything to hurt him. Yet.  
  
"Hands above your head."  
  
He moved them upwards as instructed, like a puppet to Dean's voice, and held onto the headboard with a loose grip. He could feel where his shirt rode up on his stomach, but other than a lazy glance downwards, Dean looked utterly unmoved. It made him nervous.  
  
He still didn't understand what Dean was doing. Was it an exercise in blind obedience, the unlearning of the free will he'd once betrayed them all to stake claim on? But that didn't make sense either, when there was an element of choice in --  
  
Then he felt Dean's hands around the waistband of his boxers, and reacted before he knew what he was doing.  
  
"No, you can't --" he pleaded, trying to pull Dean's hands away as everything suddenly clicked. It couldn't really be happening, he'd wake up soon, Dean couldn't possibly be _this_ cruel.  
  
He felt a cold grip wrap around his neck, and slowly choked as Dean pressed down.  
  
"No, please, don't do this, Dean," he tried again, voice dissolving into a whimper as he lost oxygen with his words. Dean didn't move an inch. Castiel panicked. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't tell if Dean would let go soon, and he couldn't - _couldn't, couldn't, couldn't_  - let this happen to him, Father, _please_.  
  
He must have started clawing at Dean once the edges of his vision started to go dark. But it wasn't until he let go of the hand pulling at his clothes that it finally stopped.  
  
He was dimly aware of Dean sitting back, still calm while he coughed and gasped for air. He was still panting, leaning forward on his elbows, when he felt Dean lift the back of his shirt and pull it over his head, leaving him half-bare.  
  
Dean still didn't look fazed in the slightest, completely in terrifying control as he pushed Cas back down on the bed, ignoring the silent sobs beginning to rack the body underneath him as he pinned slim wrists down on the mattress.  
  
"Move your hands again and I'll tie you to the bed."  
  
Then, not another word. He yanked Cas' boxers down and pushed his thighs apart, clinical rather than passionate. Cas' hands clenched tightly around the metal bars as he turned his face away, trying to pretend it wasn't happening.  
  
With eyes clenched shut, he felt Dean's grip on his legs, rearranging them like a doll's. The resulting focus on the sensation of unwanted hands on him, forcing his legs even further apart to either side of Dean's hips, leaving him exposed like never before - it was only a shade better than being forced to watch Dean's utterly unaffected expression as he did all these things. Like Cas was nothing but a human-shaped sex toy.

He felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to fight, to struggle and find a way out of this violation...  
  
But the fear was too much.  
  
He could only whimper and beg for mercy, a pathetic mewling thing frozen by terror and made docile by the desperation to survive this without more injury.  
  
Dean pushed his fingers inside Cas’ mouth, nails scraping his cheeks until they were coated in saliva, then shoved them into his ass without warning, barely enough slick except to ease his rough slide inside. Cas couldn't stop a whine from escaping; it didn't hurt, not like Dean's punches or kicks or slaps, but it was uncomfortable and the stretch was too much, too soon.

His fingernails dug into his palms where they were wrapped around the headboard not matter how much he tried to relax his grip. It wasn't so bad, he told himself insistently. It could be worse. He didn't think of anything but the purely physical - he couldn't let himself, not when the crushing weight of  _you deserve this and you know it, it's Dean's right after everything you've done, you're letting him do this to you, you only have yourself to blame now_  was threatening to smother him completely.  
  
The fingers inside him scissored him open with little care, occasionally brushing over something that forced a jolt of pleasure to his unwanted half-hard cock, until Dean added another finger and the painful stretch of muscle overpowered anything else. He bucked upwards, trying hopelessly to alleviate the pressure, but Dean held him down so easily. One hand pressed against his chest was all it took.

 

For a moment, it all stopped. Dean took his fingers out and moved off Cas completely. He was so certain it was finally over, and even dared to open his eyes again.  
  
But it was too good to be true. All it granted him was the ability to watch as Dean undid his trousers, stroked his cock - swollen red and hard with arousal - and pushed into Cas' body, without a flicker of emotion.  
  
He screamed as it happened, for all of a second before Dean's hand, smelling of pre-come and sweat, clamped over his mouth. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt so  _much_  - he couldn't bear it but every movement made it ten times worse, while Dean drove into him without pause inch by inch until he was fully seated inside. Cas didn't know when he stopped holding onto the headboard but his hands were pushing at Dean's torso now, trying to shove him away with no effect. He was weak, too small, too powerless to stop Dean as the man started thrusting into him at a ruthless pace.  
  
He screamed and cried and sobbed behind Dean's palm until he was hoarse. And it still wasn't enough to stop Dean, or to ever make that terrifyingly calm mask slip.  
  
It felt like hours had passed. He stopped struggling before long. He was a hole for Dean to fuck, and to fuck with neither passion nor care.  
  
Then Dean pulled out and moved his hand to scrunch his fist in Cas' hair all in one movement, dragging Cas downwards.  
  
A second later, come stained Cas' face, streaked across the bridge of his nose, dripping from the bow of his lip. Dean glanced at the sight once and that seemed to be the limit of his interest.  
  
Bruised, torn, tainted and degraded, Cas lay there dazed and naked on the bed while Dean pulled his trousers back up. He didn't know where his own clothes had gone.  
  
"Why?" he asked Dean, ashamed at the reedy, desperate sound of his voice.  
  
He didn't expect an answer, but he received one. Dean's parting scoff, delivered over his shoulder. "You'll work it out eventually."


	4. Chapter 4

It happened again, of course. Each time worse than the last, each time with a little less struggle.  
  
At first, Cas thought he did 'work it out', as Dean said. Every time, whenever Dean felt like it, he'd ask Cas about his day. Good days meant being stripped naked and raped, like punishment for every laugh or smile or moment of peace. But eventually bad days, too, meant he was ungrateful, a liar trying to get out of his punishment, thoughtless and stupid and arrogant and... it always ended the same way. It was a game he couldn't win. It didn't matter what he answered. If Dean wanted him, Dean had him.  
  
Besides. Cas didn't have good days any more.  
  
He didn't want to keep doing this. If this was what it meant to make amends, he was too weak to do it, and though it shamed him to realise it, it was true. He wanted to leave, wanted to take his fragile human body somewhere where it wouldn't be constantly covered in bruises or scars, or violated at Dean's whim.

He didn't know what it was about  _that_  source of pain in particular that finally broke him, but it did.  
  
Not that he  _had_  anywhere else to go. Here, at least, he was clothed and fed and had everything he needed. What other place would give him that, without currency or useful skills in exchange? He understood that much about human society.  
  
This bunker, with Dean in it, was the only place he could survive. That was the truth of it, in the end.  
  
Sam, at least, was looking better for most of the time now. It happened often enough that Dean was considering hunts again when they caught his eye. Though he still coughed often and there was always a chance that it would get so bad he'd be confined to bed again, his so-called 'good days' were finally turning into good weeks.  
  
The only unfortunate side effect was that he was beginning to notice Cas'... current state.  
  
"Hey... Cas, are you sure you’ve been doing okay lately?" Sam asked with some caution one evening over dinner. He'd tried to bring it up earlier, when Dean was still present, but unsurprisingly the conversation had been cut short in the name of 'masculinity'. Cas wished he had the competence to use that excuse without the risk of tripping over the words and only making Sam more persistent.  
  
"Yes. I'm fine." It sounded halting and awkward even to his own ears.  
  
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Sam hedged, "But you've been looking... well, really under the weather lately."  
  
Cas couldn't disagree. He'd seen for himself in the mirror how pale he was now, the shadows under his eyes when he alternated between insomnia and total exhaustion, the outline of ribs on the verge of standing out under his skin now that he often didn't want to eat. Then there were the bruises that never completely faded - not only the few on his face and arms but where Sam couldn't see, too, peppered between his legs and over his now-mottled hips. They hurt when he brushed over them in the shower.  
  
"I told you, I'm fine," he repeated. Realising he'd been too sharp with his words when Sam raised his eyebrows, he then added, "I'm sorry. I've simply..."  
  
Some half-lie, something to deflect Sam's attention. He grasped at the words but they wouldn't come.

"I haven't enjoyed being human," he mumbled eventually, a wry, self-depreciatory grin crossing his face when he thought of how true that really was. "I miss how things used to be."  
  
Something must have shown on his face when he said it, because Sam's voice turned soft, so concerned and caring that Cas wanted to wrap himself in it forever, no matter how much he knew he didn't deserve it.  
  
"You're allowed to talk about it, if that'd help. You know we're here for you. Just say the word, I swear, Cas, anything you need. You've been helping us out ever since you met us. Let us return the favour."  
  
Cas shook his head. Dean had already made it clear, both directly and indirectly, that he was not to bother Sam. And he didn't _want_ to either, not if it meant Sam spent less time recovering because of worrying over some fallen angelic war criminal - the same one who’d once regarded him as nothing but a half-demonic puppet, then watched him fall into Hell without ever offering a hand,  _then_  remorselessly destroyed the wall in his mind that was keeping him alive and sane.

Cas might not enjoy it when Dean listed these misdeeds, but he wasn't so delusional that he couldn't recognise they'd happened and were completely his fault. He sometimes even felt almost grateful for the reminder, as if Dean had the ability to push purpose back into Cas' life with the words alone - amends, repentance, atonement. Why else could his Father possibly keep bringing him back?  
  
Speaking of Dean. "Maybe you should talk to him about it? You guys are pretty close, so maybe he'd be able to help you out better than I can."  
  
Cas hesitated. What was he supposed to say to that?  
  
"I... can't," he answered, stuttering and grasping at straws. "I - he - that is, I have no need to. I'm fine." Sam's answering look of total skepticism prompted him to continue. "I really don't need to. And I also... We have had some disagreements lately so I don't wish to bother him."  
  
Sam sighed heavily. "It's up to you, of course. But Dean isn't the kind to hold grudges like that if you need his help. You're his best friend, remember?"  
  
"Dean has helped me a lot. Please don't worry yourself over this. It's nothing," Cas said, too distracted with trying to correct what he'd said earlier. Dean  _did_  help him, all the time, and Cas should have remembered that instead of complaining to Sam like this. It was stupid of him. Besides, he knew he'd lost the privilege of being Dean's friend long ago, after his many betrayals.  
  
"Whatever you say. Just, take care of yourself, alright?" Sam shrugged a little reluctantly as he got up from the table. "You gonna be okay with the dishes?"  
  
Cas nodded and stood as well, collecting the empty plates as he went. It was a relief to lose himself in that kind of mindless work. He liked washing the dishes. It almost made him feel useful again.

 

* * *

"So, what did you and Cas have a lovers’ tiff about?"  
  
Dean spun around to stare at Sam blankly. "Uh, what?"  
  
"You know, your argument or whatever it was. Cas thinks you're gonna bite his head off if he talks to you." Sam shrugged like he always did, like it was no big deal, but Dean knew him down to his toes - he was definitely itching for some heart-to-heart about Cas.   
  
Dean could feel a headache coming on.  
  
"Is that right?" he said, keeping the suspicion out of his voice. God, it was exactly like Cas to wimp out and go running to Sam like that. What did he think he was doing? What did Dean have to _do_ to make him shut up and listen for once in his goddamn life?  
  
"Um, yeah." Sam made it sound like it should have been obvious, but Dean didn't know  _what_  kind of bullshit Cas had been spewing up at his little brother, this stuff about arguments or lovers' tiffs or something. "I talked to him after dinner, when you left, just to see if he was okay. And I thought hey, you guys used to be joined at the hip, so maybe he should talk to you about it?"  
  
Dean frowned. He couldn't let on about what was really up with him and Cas - he loved Sam but the man was just a giant softie, he wouldn't get it - but he had to find out what was going on. If Cas was bothering Sam about his imaginary angst...  
  
"What do you mean, if he was okay?" he asked, just enough concern to sound genuine. Maybe if Cas wasn't such a colossal dick, Dean might actually be worried about him, and not just about how much Sam actually knew.  
  
Sam looked surprised. "You mean you haven't noticed? Dean, he looks miserable all the time, and he practically doesn't eat! Plus, he's always covered in these big bruises and cuts and stuff, and it's like..."  
  
He paused, some kind of realisation hitting him, and his voice turned hushed despite the fact they were the only ones in the room. "You're gonna think this is stupid, I know, but he's not... doing it on purpose, is he? You think maybe we should get him to see a psych or something like that?"

Dean couldn't help it; he scoffed. "Dude, he's been like that ever since he got here," he lied easily - whatever that would make Sam drop the subject, "He's just grumpy old Cas." And 'grumpy old Cas' was going to be getting one hell of a beating tonight. Fuck him for making Sam so worked up like this.  
  
"No, he's  _not_. I'm serious, Dean. What if he's depressed? He said he didn't like being human, and... There was this girl at Stanford who -- "  
  
"No, Sam. Cas isn't some whining teenage head case, he's always been like that and he's gonna be  _fine,_ " he interrupted harshly, wincing when Sam looked utterly offended. Yeah right, mental illness is a real thing and it affects real people, I-went-to-college-and-I-know-things... whatever. It still didn't apply to Cas.   
  
And of course Cas didn't bloody _like_ being human. No, he liked being puffed up on angel mojo, all high and mighty and towering over them like he was better or something. But he didn't know anything about anything. He didn't listen to Dean when Dean still cared, and look where that got them all?   
  
Sam still looked annoyed, so Dean sighed and tried to smooth things over again. "I shouldn't have said that. Look, I'll talk to Cas about it, have a nice old chick flick moment. Honestly, I haven't noticed anything, but... gotta take care of the new human being, right?" He forced a smile. "Maybe take him on a few outings or something to pick his spirits back up, I dunno. Try and make him feel better about losing his wings and all."  
  
Sam's face lit up immediately, like Dean had flicked a switch. "Yeah, that's a great idea! He said he missed how things used to be, so maybe if we take him out on some hunts or something, he'll --"  
  
"Uhh, whoa,  _no_. No hunting for you, Sammy. You're an invalid." And wow, Cas was one heck of an asshole if he really said that. 'How things used to be'? As in, how he used to threaten to bump Dean back into Hell, or how he had all the powers of Smitey McSmiterson at his fingertips to keep everyone in line? Nope, Dean was not having any of that.  
  
Sam agreed way too quickly. "Okay, fine. Not me. But you can take him out hunting, right? That's gotta cheer him up. And he can do all your research or something. I know how you hate reading. It'll be good for you, too, you've gotta be going mad hanging out in the bunker all day. I'll be fine here, I can take care of things. Seriously, it'll be great! It's at least worth a try - Cas might really like it! He hasn't seen any of the good stuff about being human yet. And we've been out of the hunting scene for ages, it'll be a good way to ease our way back into things." He was so excited, Dean could practically see his brain cells popping with the chemical overload.   
  
And hey, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all. Him and Cas alone, no worrying about brotherly interference and keeping things secret. It could work.

 

* * *

 

"I see you've holed yourself up in here again," Dean commented lightly as he approached, making Cas jump where he'd been seated in peace at one of the library tables.  
  
He let Cas rush to hide his books, slotting them back into the many piles scattered around the desk and pushing them to the side as if that would draw Dean's attention away from them.   
  
"I - I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do so I came here to sort through the archives, I wanted to make them easier to search, but..." His voice faded as Dean only stood there, impassive. "It was stupid of me. I shouldn't have."  
  
"Well, I dunno. I guess you do know better than every generation of hunters that's ever lived in this place, huh?"   
  
Cas looked like he was torn between protest and simply fleeing the room. Good, let him be the one scared for once.  
  
Dean pulled out a chair and sat down opposite, folding his hands on the table. Cas' own hands wrung where he hid them below the desk, the only outlet for all the nervous energy he had already begun to collect. It was strange, how powerful it made Dean feel - kind of like the school principal scolding some snotty-nosed brat, he chuckled inwardly. He thought it was pretty fair for him to have all the control this time, after all the grandstanding and angelic arrogance Cas had inflicted them in the past.  
  
"I heard you had a nice conversation with Sam yesterday. Wanna tell me what that was about?"  
  
Cas visibly paled, and shook his head – though not to refuse, because he didn't do that any more. "It wasn't anything important. We didn't say much. I -- He was worried and I told him not to be. I know it's not good for him to. He needs to get better, and he won't be able to do it if I keep causing trouble by complaining about irrelevant things, and it's my responsibility to..."  
  
Cas was a fucking parrot, that's what he was. That was almost exactly what Dean had told him, word for word with the pronouns switched out.   
  
"That's not the story I got," he said casually, making Cas freeze up. "Actually, looks more to me like you just made Sam worry more. So why don't you start again, and tell the truth this time?"  
  
"I don't know what --"  
  
Dean got up without warning and stalked over to the other side of the table, fist clenching in Cas' hair as he tore him out of his seat. "I said, tell me the fucking truth. What did you say to Sam?"  
  
"I didn't say anything! I didn't, I swear!" Cas yelled, scrabbling at Dean's wrist as he stumbled over his own feet. "He kept asking me questions, I tried to answer them, I don't know -- Please, Dean, let go of me!"  
  
He shook Cas by the hair hard, the grip keeping him in an awkward half-kneel, unable to stand up while Dean held him down at about shoulder height. "So it's Sam's fault, huh? You couldn't keep your mouth shut and it's all Sam's fault?"  
  
Cas tried to shake his head again, whimpering when Dean tilted his hand to make Cas look up at him.  
  
"You wanna know what he thinks? He thinks you're fucking depressed. Haven't seen any of the 'good stuff' about being human, so you're moping about and looking sad all the fucking time. Well, I don't know. You think you _deserve_  any of the good stuff at this point?"  
  
Cas swallowed, shook his head until Dean tightened his grip and demanded a real answer this time. Spoken out loud.  
  
"No, I know I don't. I have to make amends for what I've done," he finally choked, the words sounding like they'd been ripped out of him.   
  
"Yeah, and you'd better remember that." Dean dropped him and he fell onto his knees, the impact making an audible thud. Cas tried to get up but it was a simple matter of kicking his hands out from underneath him. He added another kick for good measure, snorting at the pathetic sound Cas made when it connected.  
  
Cas curled in on himself, already in anticipation of another beating, but Dean did nothing else. He just stood back and waited for Cas to look up at him again before unzipping his jeans.  
  
"I'm gonna teach you how to shut up properly. Get on your knees."  
  
So Castiel did, hurt filling his eyes but no protests leaving his mouth. Dean had long since taken that response away from him.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Dean threw a duffel bag into Cas' arms and told him to start packing.  
  
No accompanying explanation, no kicking or punching or... other abuse. Just that simple instruction.  
  
Cas folded his few pieces of clothing into the bag, not sure how much to bring. His stomach churned with worry, knowing there was every chance Dean would be angry if he had too much or too little. Was there the implication that he had to bring  _everything_ , since there were no other specifications? It wasn't so difficult, if that was what he was supposed to do - he didn't have many things anyway.   
  
The desk and the bookshelves lining his room had remained empty ever since Dean stormed in with those black trash bags so many weeks ago, and there was nothing else except that small box still hidden away under his bed. It'd only been by pure chance that Dean never found it. Nor had Castiel dared to ever take it out since then; it was there like an invisible comfort, the knowledge that he had  _something_  of his own, no matter how guilty keeping it made him feel.  
  
If Dean was getting rid of him altogether, then Cas had to bring this box with him too. But if not, then Dean would discover it and... It was difficult to think about.  
  
However, it was still easier to think about _that_ than consider that Dean might truly be minutes from shoving him out the front door and locking it behind him forever, finally sick of having this useless, pathetic example of a human haunting the bunker like so much dead weight.   
  
He couldn't let himself dwell on it anymore. He focused back on the tiny collection of trinkets, now less comforting and more like a stain in the room, a ticking time bomb made of Cas' own self-sabotage and disobedience. He felt utterly irrational, on some level where he still had that awareness, but he had to get rid of it.  
  
He wasn't sure when Dean would come back, so he pushed open the window before crawling under the bed to fish it out from a dusty corner, and dared to take one last look before he dumped it all into the forest below where it had come from.  
  
So there went his last little scraps of luxury - pen, feather and pebble - cast out in a moment of panic, before he went back to packing his duffel and praying to  _something_  that Dean still wanted him. He tried very hard not to regret what he'd done.  
  
When Dean came back to hurry him up and get him into the Impala - still, curiously and worryingly, without a single strike towards him - there was no explanation. Sam waved cheerfully from the front door but that was no real comfort. Still, he went outside, sat in the front seat as told, and then let himself drown in his uncertainty.

 

* * *

 

 

"Where are we going?" Cas finally gathered the courage to ask, an hour into a silent drive that was rapidly taking them into the middle of nowhere. Dean hadn't so much as looked at him all day, other than to mock Cas' disorganised packing and roll his eyes when Cas meekly requested a bathroom break.  
  
"Why do you want to know?" Dean answered without any inflection.

With neither a good answer nor the confidence that Dean wouldn't be angry at him for replying, Cas fell silent again, trying to make himself smaller where he sat in the passenger seat, in case this was the moment when Dean fell back into their usual routine.  
  
It was another ten minutes before Dean chuckled to himself and said, "You know, Sam thinks we're going on a hunt."  
  
Cas bit his lip.  _Are we?_  he wanted to ask, but Dean's sidelong glance told him not to speak. He squirmed, the Impala feeling a little too much like a prison. He was inarguably human now, and that meant having the kind of imagination that brought his mind to far too many alternative meanings for what Dean said.  
  
Above all, however, all he could think was that it would be the perfect opportunity for Dean to leave him somewhere, with any number of excuses for Sam. The easiest one - that Cas had left of his own accord, to find himself in this foreign world, while in reality he would wander lost and starving, in all likelihood dead within the week. Or Dean might do it himself, finally seeing how Cas wasn't even worth the redemption he'd been slowly earning, putting him out of his misery and going home to tell Sam the hunt had gone wrong.  
  
He shivered at the thought and sunk lower into his seat, unable to shake the knowledge that, if anything, Dean's only crime would be waiting so long to do it.  
  
Dean spoke again, catching Cas off-guard. "So, your first time out of the bunker since you landed down here. Bet you're just itching to get away, first chance you get."  
  
"No, that's not true," Cas frowned, made uneasy by the apparently random choice of topic. Dean didn't start conversation for the sake of conversation.  
  
"Yeah?" Dean said, the lilt in his voice skeptical and mocking. "So you're saying Sam's a liar."  
  
"No," Cas said, unease still growing. He didn't know what Sam might have said, but he was certain Sam would not have lied about anything.  
  
"Well,  _someone's_  lying, and if it's not Sam..." Dean glanced at him out of the side of his eye.  
  
"But I -- I wasn't there when you spoke to Sam," Cas backpedalled quickly, trying to avoid Dean's wrath.

"Okay, great, now Sam  _is_ lying. You'd say anything to save your own skin, huh? Goddamn coward." Dean scoffed and turned back to the road, his face darkened by something in his thoughts. The conversation ended there, by Dean's unspoken command, and they drove on in silence once more.  
  
Cas tugged anxiously at the ends of his sleeves, another nervous habit he found he'd developed. He couldn't read Dean's mind any more, no matter how often it felt like he was expected to. But that wasn't the point, as Dean had taught him numerous times - if he truly felt sorry in the slightest, he'd be able to understand what Dean wanted without needing it to be spelt out.  
  
He knew if he had a scrap of dignity he would have allowed Dean his peace and left of his own volition long ago. But here he was. He watched Dean drive, and wondered - only idly - what kept him here, after everything.  
  
"Staring again?" Dean sneered, and Cas' gaze darted away lightning-quick. He heard Dean chuckle but didn't look back. The way it sounded, derisive with an edge of anger, frightened Cas enough without seeing the expression on his face to match.  
  
The interaction seemed to end just there, and Cas was about to allow himself to relax again when --  
  
Suddenly the car pulled over to the side, stopping with a lurch that sent Cas jerking forward into his seatbelt.  
  
"Dean?" he yelped, "Why are we stopping?"  
  
The panic was already settling in. This was a deserted road, fenced in by thick forest on both sides and no one else in sight. Beside him, Dean still looked straight ahead, not angry but... calm. Calm the way he'd been that first night weeks ago, when...  
  
Cas paled, tried to shake the memory.  
  
"What are we doing?" he asked again, mind threatening to spin itself into some terrified, paranoid state of being. This was punishment for daring to want to give up on his repentance; he'd never told Dean that but he knew this was it, knew because he was always righteously punished in the end for things he did - some eternal, universal law of justice that had always governed his whole existence.  
  
"Get out of the car."

"What?" He could feel himself starting to shake, even as he tried to force himself to stay still - deep breaths, flexing his hands out, trying not to believe that this could really be happening.  
  
"You heard me. Get out of the car." Dean was looking at him now, eyes boring into Cas'.  
  
He shook his head without thinking. "No." No no no, because Dean was going to drive off as soon as he set foot outside, and he wasn't even in a town or a city or anywhere he might even have a  _chance_  of surviving - this was a highway in the middle of nowhere, somewhere that had nothing except what reminded him of where he'd been cast out graceless and consumed by guilt, watching his family fall out of the sky. He'd be trapped here, with no idea where he was or what to do. Surely,  _surely_  Dean wouldn't do that to him?  
  
Dean remained as controlled as ever. "You don't say no to me," he said, the words sounding like a casual observation, but Cas still heard the undercurrent of a threat running beneath. Dean was angry now; he didn't show it but Cas  _knew_  and now he'd ruined any chance of being allowed to stay, being so stupid and thoughtless as usual, but he had to try again. The thought of what would happen otherwise...  
  
"No, I didn't mean --" he tried to explain, but Dean cut him off before he'd barely started.  
  
"Go on, get out of here. I thought you wanted to go back out there, go exploring the world and all that shit. That's what Sam said. Like letting you back into the wild." Dean laughed to himself. He didn't  _look_  angry but that didn't mean anything, as far as Cas was concerned. "And it's not like we need you around, you're pretty useless as a human. Go be your primal primitive wild-man self or something."  
  
Cas blinked, bewildered, hurt and starting to panic. "I'll try harder. I won't be useless. I haven't been useless, have I?"  
  
Wrong question to ask. "Uh, what's your definition of useless, then?" Dean snorted, then leaned over on top of him to push the door open. The open space was like a canyon, a hungry black maw threatening to swallow him up - and Cas yelped, trying to push Dean away without putting himself closer to the outside world.   
  
"Please, Dean, you know I don't -- I don't have anywhere else to go, I don't know what to do, I can't do this by myself," he babbled, suddenly switching to the exact opposite of pushing away when Dean moved back away to his side of the car. Cas clung to his arm, more concerned about abandonment than the contemptuous look Dean shot him when he tried to shake Cas off.   
  
No, please please please don't let Dean leave him here like this. He would gladly suffer anything Dean asked of him, but he couldn't... He  _needed_  Dean, he needed to be cared for like a baby and it was shameful but he _couldn't_  survive on his own -- and he said all this without realising, told Dean all of it without really being conscious of the words or of the sobs shaking his body as he clenched his hands tight in Dean's shirt.  
  
"Get out of the car," Dean repeated again, unaffected, and --  
  
He shoved Cas out so hard that Cas landed on his ass on the dirty roadside, shocked stupid before he saw the car door had shut again and the motor was kicking back up.  
  
He clawed at the Impala's metal body, pathetic and desperate, chasing it as it began to speed up and veer back onto the road. But then there was no way he could keep up, and it disappeared over the hill.

He ran. He ran and wiped at his face and couldn't stop the sinking dread constricting his chest - that Dean had truly abandoned him like an unwanted animal, that he didn't even have any clothes or money or water or, he thought hysterically, his toothbrush and his toothpaste, all still stuffed in the trunk of Dean's car. He ran until his muscles burned like they'd never done before, from exertion and not injury, until he thought he'd never see Dean or Sam or anyone ever again.  
  
And then he saw the Impala parked up ahead on the side of the road again, and his legs were so wobbly he nearly collapsed there on the tarmac.  
  
He was still shaking when he reached the car again, hands trembling when they opened the door, almost not trusting that Dean wouldn't drive away again. Dean's bark of laughter greeted him.  
  
"You should have seen your face, Cas, Jesus," Dean began almost howling with it when Cas sat down and strapped himself - wearing a seatbelt for the first time - with lightning speed, closing the door behind him and shivering from residual adrenaline. "You really thought I left, didn't you?"  
  
Cas crumpled in his seat, the wave of relief washing over him almost overwhelming in its intensity. Dean didn't leave him. He was here again. It was a... a prank, just a silly prank Dean played on him for fun. He clutched at his own ribs, the only thing stopping him from clinging to Dean like a frightened child again.   
  
"I didn't want you to leave me there," he mumbled by way of half-excuse, half-explanation.  
  
Dean's laughter at that rang in his ears and he burned with the humiliation that warred with the relief of being back in the car, back with Dean, back where it was safe.


	6. Chapter 6

He was still, inexplicably, shaking and suppressing little gasping sobs in his chest when the Impala reached suburbia.   
  
When they hit a traffic light, Dean suddenly leaned over again, and Cas' terror went up ten notches before he realised -- no, Dean wasn't going to kick him out again. Instead, Dean's arms closed around him and... it was a hug. It took a few moments to accept that Dean wouldn't suddenly turn this into some painful new action.  
  
"Hey, didn't think you'd still be so shaken up about it," Dean murmured, rubbing his back in slow circles while he tried to decide between shrinking away or accepting this rare -  _more than_  rare - gesture.  
  
In the end, Cas gave in. He could only let out a whimper and sink into the embrace. He locked his arms around Dean's torso, so tight he could hear Dean's surprised huff in his ear, and breathed in the scent of freshly-washed worn-down tee and gunpowder that no longer meant punishment but now, all of a sudden, confusingly,  _comfort_.  
  
"I really thought you'd leave me," he mumbled, embarrassed now.  
  
"'s just a joke. You're alright, relax."  
  
They stayed like that until the car behind them blasted its horn at them for missing the green light, and Cas squirmed in half-joyful, half-fearful puzzlement.   
  
It was too strange. Dean's touches were never like that. They were always... punching or kicking or shoving or worse. Perhaps it was guilt for the 'joke' but Cas' mind instantly recoiled from the thought - it wasn't Dean who should feel guilty, it was him, and he was the one trying to repent.   
  
It took a long time for him to realise. Dean was being kind to him, and treated him like a friend. He didn't deserve it but he had it, because Dean was still the Righteous Man and he was merciful and... it felt like he would burst from the gratitude, but he held it in and didn't say another word until long after they reached the motel.

 

* * *

 

For all of Dean's unexpected kindness and apparent acceptance of Cas' presence, he still had to put conscious effort into not worrying that Dean would never return from the hunt, abandoning Cas to an empty motel room - for real, this time. Of course, it didn't help that Dean seemed to be preparing to head back out of the motel, only a short while after they'd booked the room.  
  
"I thought we weren't here for a hunt," he said carefully when Dean piled their bags onto one of the beds and began rummaging for weapons.  
  
"Seriously?" Dean snorted, waving a gun in Cas' direction before shoving it into the holster on his leg."You know not everyone makes a habit of lying to people they call family, right?"  
  
Cas flinched backwards, heart rate jumping up for a second before he realised the revolver was gone. Unwanted memories of the past few weeks aside, he didn't know why he was so jumpy; Dean had certainly never used a gun on him, not as a human at least, so it was a stupid fear.  
  
He stayed quiet, not wanting to trigger Dean's anger. He knew he'd betrayed Dean before - far too many times, always lying and deceiving those he genuinely regarded as friends - but there was still some part of him that was reluctant to face his punishment. The same part that still wished on some level that all this would  _end_. The atonement, making up for his mistakes, everything. It didn't make sense. He knew he was supposed to be making amends, not... dwelling in self pity as he was.  
  
When he looked up from his shoes, Dean was eyeing him suspiciously.  
  
"Should I pack my things too?" he asked with a slight sheepishness, knowing Dean hadn't ordered him to do so, but unsure whether that was supposed to be expected knowledge.  
  
"God no. You, on a hunt?" Dean scoffed and turned to unlock the door. "You just stay here and don't go anywhere. Shouldn't take long, it's just a salt and burn."

The door slammed shut before Cas could answer, and he was left alone again. He tried not to think of how Dean didn't say he'd be back.

 

* * *

  
When Dean  _did_  finally return, late into the night with graveyard dirt on his face and a new graze across his arm, it took everything for Cas not to childishly run and hide.  
  
He'd been trying to sleep, even through the creeping anxiety that Dean wouldn't be coming back. He'd dutifully taken a shower - shivering under the freezing water until he figured out how the unfamiliar temperature controls worked - and gotten changed, then lay there in an unfamiliar, starch-and-bleach-scented bed, waiting for exhaustion to take over.  
  
It had been maybe an hour or more, or maybe he'd even begun to drift off. Either way, he was very much wide awake and alert when the door crashed open and Dean hauled himself inside.  
  
Dean was angry. Cas could recognise it with ease now, even in the darkness, the heavy set of Dean's jaw and the way his eyes would pierce everything with a hateful intensity, far too often directed at the once-angelic human currently wishing he'd pretended to be asleep instead of sitting up to see if Dean was alright.  
  
"Did something happen?" he asked, hesitant to break the tenuous calm as Dean kicked his muddied shoes off, the boots making a low thud when they hit the wall.  
  
"Didn't know you cared," he sneered. Cas shrunk back as he walked closer to their beds, all too aware of how Dean was heading towards the one Cas already occupied, rather than his own. Dean took off his shirt with a grimace, shaking the dirt and mud out before dropping the whole mess of torn material onto the carpet.

"I do care," Cas insisted, searching for a way out. "You're hurt. Let me find... bandages? Disinfectant?" He pulled the blankets aside to get up - on the opposite side of the bed - but Dean's hand closed around his upper arm.  
  
"Nah, you're not getting out of it that easy. You know what your problem is? You don't even try to fix the shit you start, not until it starts bothering you personally." Dean yanked him back down onto the bed, ignoring Cas' half-hearted struggle. He already knew where this was going, it had already happened so often, but this time Dean was  _angry_ , not terrifyingly calm as usual, and he didn't didn't didn't want it to get worse - it only ever got worse, he thought he should be used to it and he knew he was repenting but please, Dean, not again --  
  
"Shut up, stop babbling. The hell is wrong with you?"  
  
Cas did shut up. Dean pinned him down to the bed with one hand at his throat, and grabbed at his clothes while he lay limp and shivering, eyes shut tight. The hotel linen was scratchy, different from the linen at the bunker. It was easier to think of that.  
  
"You don't like this, do you, Cas?" Dean stated more than asked, completely out of the blue. Cas froze up, legs still uncomfortably twisted and spread beneath Dean. He swallowed, shook his head.  
  
"Well, maybe if Sam was around, this wouldn't be happening. Think about that, and iunno, you _might_  actually start feeling sorry for what you did to him. Your fault he's too sick to hunt, so your turn to suffer for it."  
  
And with that said...  
  
Dean didn't hold back. Not until it was finally over and Cas was left shivering below him, telling himself over and over as always: It wasn't so bad. It had happened before. He deserved it.  
  
The only difference was that this time, Dean didn't leave. He remained right where he lay behind Cas, one arm slung over Cas, side by side - far too close, far too intimate, but he couldn't squirm away for fear of further punishment.  
  
Dean seemed to be less angry now, but it was as if he'd transferred all of his tension to Cas instead; Cas, who stayed as still as he could even though he could feel the soft line of Dean's cock pressing into the small of his back, and the heat of Dean's hand across his stomach as it held him in place.

He flinched as something came into contact with the back of his head, but no pain followed. Instead, Dean was running fingers through his hair, combing them through the mess they'd become, tangled against the pillow. Then the press of Dean's lips.  
  
Cas couldn't stop the low, helpless whine that escaped his lips for just a moment. He didn't know for sure but... he couldn't take Dean again, not like this, not even if he was less rough. He could feel the bile threatening to rise in his throat. Everything still hurt so much - he couldn't --  
  
Then the touch was gone. Dean got off the bed, leaving Cas cold and alone except for one trailing hand on his shoulder, a parody of true affection.  
  
"Looks like you're good for something after all."

Cas felt dirty, tainted, a crumpled mess taking up too much space on the hotel bed.

 

* * *

 

He must've fallen asleep while Dean was in the shower, washing off the remnants of the hunt and of their... time together. The next thing he knew, it was early morning and there was a hand on his shoulder shaking him awake.  
  
"Hunt's over. We're heading back."  
  
That was all Dean said until they were back in the Impala, motel room empty and checked out. Cas shifted restlessly in the passenger seat, trying to find a comfortable way to sit but, much to his humiliation, shame, self-disgust… everything still ached.  
  
"Y'know, Sam was the one who thought a road trip would do you some kind of good. So do us all a favour and don't act like such a whiney bastard when we get back," Dean mentioned casually.  
  
Cas nodded and looked down at his hands, cradled in his lap. "I understand. I'm sorry he bothered you."  
  
"That's not what I meant," Dean hissed, making Cas shrink down in his seat. "How many times do I have to explain this to you? Do you actually listen when I talk or is it all just boring lowly human rambling to you?"  
  
"No! Of course I listen! I - I remember what you said, I do."  
  
"Great. You wanna repeat it to me, then, if you know it all?"  
  
"Yes, it's... It's Sam's health. He can't get better if he thinks he has to look after me. I don't need looking after, I'm perfectly healthy and I... he has better things to think about, he..."  
  
"Wow." Dean raised his eyebrows and looked vaguely impressed. "Now just say it in less words and maybe you'll sound less like a lunatic."  
  
Cas nodded again, always agreeing to everything he said.  
  
Then they pulled up to the bunker, Sam already standing outside with a wave and a cheery grin.


	7. Chapter 7

Another few weeks later, Sam decided he was really, really glad he'd gotten Dean to take Cas out on that first hunt.  
  
Looking back now, he realised that... okay, so it certainly wasn't the  _start_  of Dean and Cas' incredibly intense soul-staring profound bond, but it  _was_  the catalyst for the rather sweet turn that their relationship had taken.  
  
Like that time they'd settled down to eat dinner and Sam felt Dean's foot land on his, then watched Dean's face turn totally bright red before he quickly shifted it over to Cas' with such little subtlety Sam felt pretty entitled to mock him for it for  _days._  Or maybe when it was just Sam and Cas reading in the library together, and Dean would come by and ruffle Cas' hair before leaving them with some tea or hot chocolate each. The first time that happened, Sam could remember how wide Cas' eyes had gotten, and the way he'd stared at Dean's retreating back. And yeah, Sam had been more than a little surprised himself, what with Dean's usual lack of such overt affection.  
  
Then there were also those times he saw Dean cradling an obviously upset Castiel to his chest, as he had once when he'd wandered down to the kitchen to find all their spell ingredients spilled across the tiles. It was pretty soppy of him but he was seriously warmed by the sight. Dean still had some serious issues about that 'no chick flick moments' thing, so it was nice that he was so willing to comfort Cas like that. Sometimes he felt like going over and giving Dean a great big bear hug for it, but _that_ would definitely have been considered crossing the line for his brother’s big bad manliness.

Anyway, god knew Cas needed the comfort once in a while. Most days, he honestly looked fine, but there was no way Sam could miss the occasional morning when Cas woke up with red-rimmed, tear streaked eyes. They never talked about it – that was the rule with nightmares, after all. But the sight of Dean always made Cas pick up again, with that little shy smile he’d shoot Sam as if to say _I’m better now_.  
  
The best thing was how much happier they both looked. Dean wasn't so nervous and tense any more, although that might've equally been because Sam himself was rarely that sick now. For a while there, he’d thought he would never see his elder brother smile again. 

As for Cas... well, he was doing great.  
  
He always came back with a few injuries here and there, enough that Sam began to wish he'd never asked Dean to start hunting with Cas since it seemed like the guy might not be able to handle it as a human. But the moment he'd brought it up with Cas, Cas had been pretty adamant about continuing with the hunting.  
  
"No, it - it does make me feel much better. I like being able to hunt again," Cas had insisted while Sam re-bandaged another nasty hunting accident wound, this one from some kind of mishap with a poltergeist. "It... has its benefits. Thank you."  
  
"Iunno if you should be thanking me, honestly. You're getting hurt an awful lot. I should have gotten Dean to give you some training first. You know, how to fight and all that." Just off the top of his head, he could list a few of the worse ones Cas had timidly asked him for help with after a hunt: fingerprints wrapped around his throat, dark purple bruises on his shoulder blades where it looked like something had tried to rip at his now-inexistent wings, a set of grazes all over the back of his arm and sides that he couldn’t reach with the antiseptic.   
  
Cas had twitched then, and Sam quickly apologised - must've nicked him with the clasp on the bandage, he guessed.   
  
"But the apple pie life really didn't suit you, huh? I mean, since you've been hunting again, you've been looking a lot happier," he went on as he began packing up the first aid kit. "Sometimes I forget you used to be all immortal-heavenly-warrior."  
  
Cas kind of attempted a smile but it was so pained, Sam regretted bringing the topic up immediately. "Sorry, it's still a sore spot, isn't it? Forget I said anything," he amended quickly. "I guess I'm still just coming to terms with the fact that, well, not every hunter is secretly jonesing for a normal life." It was a terrible change of topic but it kind of worked; Cas' face did instantly smooth out again.  
  
"I understand. I think... hunting, as a human, has given me a new appreciation for having a safe home base." Cas smiled again, and this time it looked genuine, even with the wince as he stood up to stretch his legs. "Thank you very much for your help, Sam."  
  
"No problem. What're friends for, right?" Sam grinned as he packed the rest of the gauze roll back into its box and tucked the kit back under the sink.  “Now, let’s go find Dean and tell him off for getting you hurt again. Gotta learn you’re not made of steel anymore.”  
  
He didn't see how Cas' face fell as they left the bathroom together.


	8. Chapter 8

It started with a hex bag.  
  
It tumbled out of Cas' duffel and his heart plummeted into his stomach.   
  
He knew he'd forgotten something, he  _knew_  there had been something missing, but in all his panic to get out of the bunker and into the car before Dean deemed him too sluggish yet again...   
  
He should have remembered, or he should have done it earlier. He should have done  _something_. It was his responsibility. It was his job to make these hex bags, protective charms with the fabric covered in symbols to ward off almost everything from mid-tier demons to the angels he'd murdered, and wrapped around tiny talismans he'd painstakingly carved to keep away the rest.   
  
Dean had given him this task to prove himself, to show that he really could be trusted now and that he was sincere about wanting to make amends - because he  _was_ , and he'd never not been; it'd only been a case of animalistic avoidance of pain if he'd ever thought otherwise. He had to prove that to Dean.   
  
But it didn't matter, because now he'd messed it up.  
  
Three hex bags - one in the Impala, one in the motel room, one always on Dean's person. How could he have forgotten? He was stupid, thoughtless, forgetful... he'd betrayed Dean too many times to count already, and this time, he knew he wouldn't be let off so easily. It should've been automatic to make and place the hex bags now, he'd already done it so many times - each time with Dean's warning ringing in his ears:  _I'm trusting you with my life here, so don't. fuck. up._  
  
He was being trusted with Dean's  _life_.  
  
Dean would find out. Dean would know what he'd done, and see his betrayal, and then...

He had to stop pacing the room, his knees turning to jelly. He hadn't eaten enough that day, too nervous about the 'hunt' again - Dean left him well enough alone when they were in the bunker, so it was easier for him to act normal there, but it wasn't like that on the hunts - and the thought of Dean's trust being placed in him yet again, a gesture of such overwhelming generosity that Cas had nearly cried when Dean first announced it, only to be thrown away so carelessly because he was useless and a traitor and –

The worst thought struck him.   
  
What if something had found Dean? What if it was a demon, or a monster, or an angel hunting the wrong person for revenge? And Dean wouldn't be expecting it, if he didn't know the hex bag was missing. What if Dean was hurt, or injured, or worse...  
  
He threw up - just sprinted to the bathroom and threw up. It was nothing but bile and spit but he was filled with such disgust he almost did it again. The fear still sat like a rock at the bottom of his stomach.   
  
Dean was going to kill him. Dean trusted him and Dean was put in danger because of him and now Dean was going to kill him.  
  
Cas panicked. He fled.  
  
He didn't know what town they were in, or what road the motel was on, or  _anything_  because Dean had simply never seen the necessity in telling him, but... he ran. He tore straight out the door and across the parking lot, onto streets he'd never seen in his existence. It was only pure adrenaline keeping him upright now, the terror beating through his veins as his mind clung to images of what Dean would do to him if he ever stopped running.   
  
More than bruises and punches and kicks, Dean would tear him apart for this. The only responsibility he'd been given, and this was what he did with it. He could hear the words ringing in his head already, the phantom pain of every time Dean had pinned him to a bed or a wall or the floor, or rained beatings down on him for making another mistake. But this wasn't just a mistake. It was another betrayal. Castiel, even human, was still every part a backstabber, a liar, turning his back on his friends and killing his family.

He finally stopped and collapsed in an old doorway, oblivious to the suspicious stares of the few passers-by who crossed the road ahead of him or peered over with that half-curious brand of concern only strangers could carry. His legs had finally given out, with lack of muscle and energy and the freezing cold that he'd only just begun to notice.  
  
He was safe now, he told himself over and over. Surely, Dean wouldn't be able to find him here. He might find his own way back, when he could be sure Dean might not be so angry -  _but he will be,_  said a voice in his head,  _he'll wish you never came back, you're a traitor and a deceiver, if he kills you you'll deserve it_  - and though Dean would still punish him, it wouldn’t be so bad.   
  
He must have stayed there for hours.

When it began to get dark he could feel himself drifting to sleep, out in the cold but at least not with Dean, the adrenaline slowly pumping out of his body.   
  
It was strange, how his mind always went back to Dean. Would it be safe to go back now? Sometimes Dean didn't return until late, but usually on the first night - if it was a hunt that lasted more than one - he'd arrive back at the motel in the late afternoon. Maybe he hadn't even noticed the hex bag missing, though Cas knew it was unlikely.   
  
Cas was hungry, and tired, and almost delirious from it - and sometimes Dean let him rest a little early if he had been good, the oblivion of sleep all too welcome. It only ever happened at the bunker, when Sam was there, although Cas chose to dismiss that thought easily. Maybe tonight would be different. He always had hope.  
  
He was just so tired. And it was so easy to think of Dean being kind to him. Hugging him. Holding him close. Laying a hand on the back of his head to calm him. Cooking for him.  
  
It was even easier to forget what had preceded all those things. The punishments, beatings, fear... rape. It simply faded away.   
  
He'd been seconds from closing his eyes to sleep when the black Chevrolet pulled up by the sidewalk.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam had gotten into the habit of leaving his bedroom door open whenever the two lovebirds went out on hunts, and was woken by the sound of Dean rummaging around in the kitchen for extra supplies.  
  
Huh. He didn't usually come home in the middle of the night to restock without calling up first. But then, they were both still getting used to this new system of hunting - one brother here while the other was an entire state away. It felt like centuries since the last time they'd been in the same hotel room.  
  
Sam slipped out of bed to go say hello, finding Dean just as he was finished with repacking his duffel.  
  
"Thought you weren't coming back till Wednesday," he said by way of greeting. Dean didn't jump at the sound of his voice or anything; only zipped up his bag and patted down his pockets to check he had everything. Lighter, ammo, holy water - it was an action Sam had performed himself a million times over.  
  
"Nah, Cas got cranky and wanted to go home. I've still gotta go back and finish the job."  
  
That didn't sound much like Cas. "Did he get injured or something?"  
  
"Nothing beyond the usual. He's just tired, give him a day off tomorrow and he'll be good."  
  
"Okay... see you later then, I guess," Sam nodded, waving while Dean hauled his things off the bench and headed back out to the Impala. He really needed to go back to bed, with the way he was falling asleep on his feet right there.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Sam obediently left Cas alone in his room, until he heard a crash from down the hallway.  
  
That... didn't sound good.  
  
He got up and wandered towards the sound.  
  
"Cas, you okay? I heard something -- holy shit,  _Cas!_ "  
  
He was by Cas' side in half a second, about to pull him back to his feet from where he'd collapsed on the floor until Cas' groan of pain stopped him in his tracks.  
  
"I'm fine. It's fine. I can get up. I..." Cas sputtered as he tried to push Sam away, hands succeeding only in flailing around in his general direction.  
  
"Wait, Cas, just -- " Sam began, trying to calm Cas before he put an elbow through the wall. Cas didn't listen, seemed intent instead on standing up until he whimpered and Sam only just caught him before he hit the floor.  
  
He almost dropped him when he felt how  _cold_  Cas' skin was. There was something very, very wrong.

"Let go of me, please, I'll be fine, I just need water, I --" Cas hadn't stopped talking, the panic in his voice rising. Sam pressed a hand to his forehead - too cold and clammy again - then his wrist, where the pulse was weak but rabbit-fast.  
  
Then -  _then_  - he saw the livid purple where Cas' shirt had ridden up around his stomach, the patches of a furiously dark blue that Sam recognised within seconds, years of hunting injuries at the forefront of his mind. This wasn't normal bruising, not one bit. This was a lot worse.

Without even thinking, he grabbed the hem of the shirt and pushed it up to get a better look. Cas flinched away so violently his head thudded into the wall behind him.  
  
"Oh god -- Cas, we need to get you to hospital." How had Dean not noticed? Jesus, if Cas hadn't come out if his room, what if  _Sam_  hadn't noticed either?  
  
"No, I don't need to, I'm fine --"

Sam didn't stop to listen. He went through his options at lightning speed and grabbed the phone just down the hall. Dean had the Impala, so no driving; it'd have to be an ambulance.  
  
But before he even dialled the numbers, Cas completely freaked out.  
  
" _I don't need the hospital!_  Please, Sam, I'll be fine! It's nothing, I don't need it, I  _don't_ ," he yelled - far, far too desperate for this to be nothing but inherited Winchester toughing-it-out.  
  
If anything, it did succeed in making Sam pause. He stared at Cas with wide, disbelieving eyes.  
  
"Cas, you have internal bleeding and it's been going on for the last  _twenty four hours_  at the least. Definitely in your abdomen, and possibly your head too if you're dizzy enough to fall over. And you're in shock, a  _lot_  of shock. You  _have to_  get a doctor for this, or else I don't know what's gonna happen. You could die."  
  
To his astonishment, Cas shook his head again, staring up at Sam with as much resolution as anyone could muster when slumped against the wall, obviously in agony, clutching at his ribs with every breath.  
  
"It doesn't matter. I don't care. Just leave it, Sam,  _please_."  
  
"What? I'm not gonna leave you here to bleed out like this! You might not care but I sure as hell do, and I’m not going to sit around and watch you suffer for nothing!"  
  
He didn't know what it was but it seemed to push Cas over the edge, because before he knew it, Cas had fallen silent, with wide eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks and a look of such pure gratitude and inexplicable shame that Sam could barely stand to see it.  
  
He called the ambulance. They sat and waited, side by side in the middle of the hallway, Cas shivering and clinging, the tears never stopping, like a dam had finally been broken and was now slowly soaking onto the shoulder of Sam's shirt.

 

* * *

  
  
" _Don't tell Dean,_ " Cas had begged one last time before they carted him away into some operating theatre.  
  
But Sam couldn't keep that promise. Dean would be due back any moment and he'd be returning to find an empty bunker and no explanation.  
  
And Sam was... Sam had way too much to process right now. Nothing was making sense. He understood hunting injuries, knew that things could look worse to civilians than they really were, but there was nothing that he could ever think of that could explain what the doctor had just told him.   
  
No, that was a lie. There was one thing. But it was so beyond the realm of possibility that he was horrified he could even think of it.  
  
He had to talk to Dean. He had to  _know._  
  
He wiped his face with one hand as he sat in the plastic waiting room chairs, thumb hovering over the call button under Dean's name. This was a mess, a total mess and Sam couldn't help but feel like he'd completely missed something that had been sitting under his nose, something that'd explain everything that he'd learnt in the last few hours.  
  
The call ended up going to voicemail. "Hey Dean, it's Sam. We're at, uh, Monterey County Mercy Hospital. Something happened to Cas and... Look, just get here when you can. He'll be okay, but we... we really need to talk."  
  
He clicked the phone shut and exhaled, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.  
  
He was missing something, he knew it. He just hoped Dean would be able to make sense of it all.

 

* * *

 

"Dean, this is serious! You didn't see the doctor's face, okay? She was not kidding around!" Sam yelled, following Dean back out into the carpark. How could he possibly be so... so cold? That was  _Cas_  lying in that hospital bed, drugged up on painkillers and covered in bruises and scars, diagnosed with abdominal internal bleeding, head trauma, one of the most horrific laundry lists of injuries Sam had ever seen that didn't leave a  _body_  on the ground. And something that made him feel so absolutely sick, something that he still prayed he'd imagined hearing from the doctor's mouth and something he didn't know if he could tell Dean. Cas had been  _raped._  
  
"Just let the hospital do its work, and he'll be fine. What's thinking about it gonna do? He's still going to be lying there, isn't he? What the hell is up with you and this anyway, Sam?" Dean shot back, still walking towards the Impala.  
  
"So you're going to just drive back home? At least go up there and talk to him! You said you weren't there at the time, and he won't tell me what happened, but at least he might tell  _you_. Even if he doesn't, he's gonna need you there with him when he wakes up!"  
  
Dean didn't answer. He only snorted and shook his head and just. kept. walking.  
  
Sam couldn't take it. He chased after Dean and kept yelling. There was no way he was going to let this go without a fight! It didn't make sense. Weren't they together now? No matter how much Dean liked to act the emotionless alpha male sometimes, Sam  _knew_  Cas had to be worth more than that to him. Sam had _seen_ Dean care for him. What had happened to make that change now?  
  
"I don't know what happened between you two, but this is way beyond whatever weird argument or stupid fight you're having this time. Come on, you're freaking me out. If I didn't know any better, I’d think --"  
  
Sam stopped dead in his tracks.

That thought he'd had earlier, the one he'd rejected outright.   
  
He grabbed Dean's shoulder, spun him around so they were face to face.   
  
"You're going to answer me honestly, and if I'm wrong then we can try to laugh it off later and I'll be an idiot, but you're going to  _answer_ , alright? 'Cause right now this is way too weird for me and I'm really, really worried about Cas," he said, his heart rate kicking up as the words left his mouth. "Did  _you_  do this to him?"  
  
Dean didn't answer.  
  
"Did you?" Sam repeated, the sliver of a hope that Dean might scoff any moment and look incredulous, offended, utterly horrified.  
  
He couldn't let himself think that Dean had really done it. He  _couldn't_. This was his big brother, the man who'd been tortured for over forty years in hell by the worst of the worst before it ever broke him, then never stopped feeling soul-shatteringly _guilty_ for it even when it was something anyone else would have done too. This was the man who'd raised him practically since birth, been his mother and his father and his brother all in one, who'd carried the burden of everything John Winchester ever threw at them. This was the man who'd taken Cas in and took care of them _all_ when Sam was on the verge of death after the trials. This was… this was Sam’s hero.  
  
Dean finally, finally shook his head. Sam almost breathed a sigh of relief.

But then he lifted Sam's hands off his shoulders, and said something that made the world go hazy.  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, I did."


	10. Chapter 10

Sam stumbled back, stunned beyond words.  
  
Then he punched Dean in the face.  
  
"What do you mean, you did?!" he yelled, beyond furious now. If Dean was playing some kind of prank, he was going to strangle him. This was the furthest thing from a laughing matter that they could ever get. His heart was thudding wildly and the blood was rushing through his ears in a steady beat of _no, no, no, no._  
  
"I meant what I said. Better you hear about it from me than Cas, anyway," Dean retorted, spitting blood out onto the pavement and looking like he was really gearing up for a fight now.  
  
Sam wanted to fucking cry.  
  
"Hear about what? Because I swear to God, Dean, after what Cas has gone through, if you're just messing with me right now --"  
  
"Hold up, don't even  _start_  on how sorry you feel for Cas and how bad it is that everything goes wrong for him. Have you forgotten all the shit he pulled on us, all the shit he still  _is_  pulling on us right now?"  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam had to be missing something here. This was so far from the Dean he'd known only yesterday that he would've repeated the holy-water-silver-knife-rock-salt test all over again if he hadn't already done it the moment Dean arrived as usual.  
  
Dean laughed, but it was angry. "You know, just yesterday, he tried to off me with a hex bag? I gave him one job and the first chance he got, he 'forgot' to put the demon repellent one in the Impala then ran so far from the motel it took me all day to haul him out of some dirty alleyway he'd found his way into. Probably should have just left him there, considering that was after one of Crowley's old goons had been following me around all day. So that's what happens when you try to give Cas a second - hell, a third, a fourth - chance. He sells you out to his old bed buddies and plans some kind of Great Escape mad dash for the outside world while he's waiting for you to get killed."  
  
Sam could only shake his head - it just didn't make sense. Cas would _never_ do that, not to Dean. Anyone could see that kind of devotion every time he so much as glanced at the man he'd pulled out of Hell.  
  
Dean continued, spurred on by Sam's horrified silence. "And let's go through what he did to us  _before_  he turned all mud monkey and had to join the ranks of mortals down here. You remember that angel tablet he'd been running around with? He beat me half to _death_ to get that thing, and then - no apologies, no explanations, that's just not his style apparently - he runs around half the planet with some other traitor angel and shuts down Heaven so completely that  _all_  the angels fall. It's a fucking miracle there haven't been any troupes of  _them_  going after us since all that happened."  
  
Taking a breath, Dean threw his arms up, looking so exasperated and tired that it shocked Sam to the core. "And don't think I didn't try to talk him down back when he was hanging out with Metatron, too. How many times do I have to go out on a limb for this guy before he finally gets it, huh? Back when he was gunning for Purgatory during that angelic pissing contest... I never told you this, but you have no idea how hard I tried to get him to back down on that plan. And look what he did instead. Full steam ahead, nearly destroyed the world. Then there’s…” Dean choked on the next words. “Lisa. Ben. That was completely Cas’ fault, and we both know it. They should have never gotten involved, and he just…”

Despite everything Sam felt a pang of sympathy. Lisa and Ben, the two people they could never talk about again.

But Dean didn’t stop there. “What's worse, he still misses playing God like that. Why else do you think he's so upset about being human all of a sudden? No magical soul batteries to power him up. Then there's everything he did to you. He nearly killed you, you remember that? He knocked down your wall without a second thought, he's the reason why you didn't stop hallucinating about Hell for over a year! That's another thing I don't get. How can you be so... so okay with him hanging around us? _After all this?"_  
  
That was what knocked Sam back into his senses.  
  
"He's our  _friend!_ " he spluttered, still unable to believe his ears. Was this seriously the same Dean he'd known all his life? "We made mistakes too, remember? Hell, we started the freaking apocalypse! I let Lucifer out of the cage!"

"That's completely different and you know it," Dean snapped, an air of finality in his voice.  
  
Sam stepped forward and shoved him in the chest. "No, it's fucking not, and  _you_  know it! How could you... You did all that to Cas, and for what? Revenge? Jesus, Dean, what the hell is wrong with you? He nearly died! And you --"  
  
He felt ill - he couldn't even begin to fathom how Dean could've justified all the torture and abuse he'd put Cas through. Just the medical report alone had made Sam want to hunt down whatever monster it was and make them pay, but now he was supposed to accept that his own brother had done this?  
  
"And you hid all of it from me! You knew it was wrong! How could you do that to him?"  
  
"I kept it from you because I knew  _this_  would happen! You can't just forgive everyone everything. Sometimes they've gotta fucking earn it."  
  
"So you thought Cas could earn it if you...” Sam couldn’t finish that sentence. “You're sick, Dean. You need help. Have you even _looked_ at Cas once since he turned human? You didn't decide he needed to earn forgiveness, you just wanted something to beat up on whenever it was convenient! And the stuff you did to Cas -- There is so much wrong here, I don't even know where to start."  
  
This was the truth laid out in front of him by Dean himself, and suddenly everything just seemed to click. And the picture it made sickened him.

Cas' apparent hunting injuries, the way he used to freeze up whenever Dean was mentioned. Even those early days when Cas blamed his clumsiness, his humanity -  _everything_  took on a sudden new, darker meaning.  
  
Sam shook his head and had to clench his fists to stop himself from just whaling on Dean. It wouldn't fix anything, no matter how much Dean deserved it. "You've been doing this to him ever since he came back, haven't you?"  
  
"He fucking asked for it. Don't you dare act like I'm a total monster just for giving him another chance. He  _said_  he wanted to make up for it all."  
  
"So you thought that was  _permission_  to... to beat him half to death? To take whatever you want from him?" Sam sputtered, thoughts flickering back to the broken body he'd found lying in the hallway only a few hours ago, terrified and more willing to die than let Dean know he'd gone to a doctor. It explained everything. "You said it best yourself, Dean. You're a monster."  
  
No punching or kicking or fighting followed; he just couldn't do it. He turned around and walked away, and the glimpse of the look on Dean's face told him that was worse than any brawl could have been.


	11. Chapter 11

_"Thought you could get away with it all, huh? Setting a pack of demons on me?"_  
  
A steel-capped boot slammed into Cas' side.

 _"Get up, you weak little sonuvabitch."_  
  
He couldn't. Everything hurt. He whimpered and curled in on himself, smearing blood from his nose onto the dirty carpet.  
  
"Come on, get up. You wanted to kill me, didn't you? Get up and do it with your own fucking hands, then. Or are you too much of a coward?"  
  
Dean planted his foot squarely on Cas' chest, and ground his heel down into the flesh below Cas' sternum until he let out a helpless cry.  
  
"It was an accident - Dean, I'm so sorry, please --!"  
  
"How many goddamn times do I have to tell you to shut up?" Dean bore weight down onto his foot until Cas heard, dizzying and terrifying, the sharp crack of a rib before the agony hit him.  
  
" **Please** , Dean, stop, stop, it hurts --"  
  
The pressure lifted and Dean kicked him over onto his side, the movement shooting paralysing pain down his side. His scream broke off into a litany of wild, panicked sobs as he fought to get away. The panic only rose when Dean knelt down on one knee behind him, fingers gripping tight in his hair.  
  
"Still think you're too good for us? Would've been pretty convenient if they got rid of me. Yeah, I see why you thought it was a good plan. You'd be free to run off wherever you want, no more naggy Dean to bother you and make you pretend to feel sorry for what you did. Probably thought you'd be able to get your wings back while you were at it. Stock up on some souls too, hm?"  
  
Cas couldn't see through his tears. Dean's face was only an angry blur beyond the pain. Everything was painpainpain but that didn't stop the guilt like a stab through the stomach. He tried to twist away, turn his head away from the fury Dean brought down on him. It was practically a confession; at least, as much of one as Dean ever needed.  
  
"Yeah, that's what I fucking thought." He slammed Cas' head against the floor, once - twice - until everything went black for half a second.  
  
Then he let go, so abruptly Cas couldn't understand, until --  
  
Dean stripped him with such brutal efficiency he didn't know why he was surprised any more. He lay there, silent and limp from agony, only struggling when the pain suddenly intensified - like a fish drowning out of water, he was so deadened and resigned. Maybe if he let Dean do this, it wouldn't hurt more, it would be over, it would be the end and then...  
  
Dean spat on him, lifted his hips ignoring the pained sobs Cas couldn't quite swallow down, and pushed himself inside past the meagre, inadequate slick.  
  
"Not done with you yet," Dean rasped through his huffs of effort, the silence only broken by Cas' choked sobs and the awful sound of skin against skin. "Not getting away with this so easy."  
  
Then he must have blacked out, he didn't know, but there was only oblivion afterwards.

Cas jerked awake, scaring Sam out of his skin.  
  
"Where -- what --" Cas stuttered through the tubes in his nose, his mouth. His eyes widened - surprise? shock? terror? - before he grabbed at the plastic on him, the IV pushed into his wrist.  
  
"Whoa, hey -- relax, Cas, you're okay --" Sam shot out of his seat, batting Cas' hands away before they could yank everything out.  
  
"No, Sam, I need - please, you need to take me home, Dean will be --"  
  
Sam's heart lurched. "No, Cas, just stop for a second... Cas, listen to me!" But words wouldn't keep Cas down. He closed his hands around Cas', held them far from his body until Cas stopped and calmed, with eyes still shocked and panicky.  
  
"Cas... it's alright. Dean's not gonna..." he began, soothingly, until his voice failed him. "Dean's not gonna be here. It's okay."  
  
Cas shook his head, desperate. "No, I need to go back. I'm fine now. Thank you for taking me to hospital, Sam, but --"  
  
"Cas. Dean told me everything, and I'm serious, he's not coming over here."  
  
The look on Cas' face was far from relief - it was total devastation.  
  
He drew his hands away from Sam's, but there was no missing the way they shook just slightly. They settled in his lap, and he looked... almost calm. Resigned.  
  
"He told you what happened," Cas murmured. "You must be angry."  
  
"Of course I am." At the stricken look in Cas' eyes, Sam rushed to confirm. "Not at you, Cas, you haven't done a single thing. At Dean."  
  
"You should not be," Cas said, seeming even more confused than ever. "He is your brother, and he's a good man."  
  
"He's -- how can you say that? You're here because of him, Cas! He put you in hospital! Has he really, what, brainwashed you into thinking you deserved all this? No one deserves what's happened to you. No one."  
  
"No one has ever done what I did." His hands clenched in the blankets. He stared down at them and refused to look at Sam's face.  
  
"You've never done anything except try your best."

That simple statement was like a knife to his stomach.  
  
He didn't want to hear this. He didn't want to -  _couldn't_  - listen to Sam treat him like a child, innocent and victimised, abused without reason and in need of everyone's help. It was partly pride, the same pride that had led him to such evil in the first place. And it was the knowledge that Dean would inevitably return, and no comfort Sam could offer would change that, no matter how much Cas wished he could revel in it. It was cruel when, despite everything he knew about his own choices and the current circumstances, he still wanted so much to believe what Sam said, to delude himself in thinking that good intentions trumped everything else, that Dean was truly wrong in what he had done to him.  
  
Sam tried again. "Please, Cas, don't shut me out. I know what Dean's done. He's a piece of shit and I can't even begin to tell you how furious I am about it. I know I'm not innocent either - I should've realised and stopped him at the very start, and I'm so sorry it took me so long to find out. You've gotta believe me when I say you _never_ deserved what happened to you, and if Dean's been telling you otherwise, then he's even more fucked up in the head than I thought."  
  
It took everything for Cas not to simply cover his ears with his hands. Was this some kind of test by Dean, to see how far he'd go to defend the Righteous Man?   
  
Sam's lips thinned when he caught Cas' eye. He went on. "If you don't want to talk about it, then that's cool. I won't make you say anything you don't want to. But you've gotta know, Cas. _Everything_ that Dean did to you, that was so far from right that I don't even know where to start. And if you do want to talk about it, I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere."  
  
Cas swallowed and looked away again.

Talking was... a phenomenally bad idea. But it was Sam and Sam was  _safe_  and although Cas had considered the thought that Sam actually agreed with Dean's course of action over the past few months and was now playing some kind of ruse to force him to admit his wrongdoing and... well, it was far too convoluted, so he'd rejected it almost as soon as the idea came. He wasn't that far gone yet, to make up paranoid theories and fall again into the trap of believing everyone was working against him. He did try to learn from his mistakes, as unlikely as his actions made it seem.  
  
"You won't believe me," he murmured under his breath, half-hoping Sam wouldn't hear.   
  
"I will," Sam insisted. "Anything you say. I'm on your side in this."  
  
"Dean is your brother." It was unfair of him, to be so skeptical of Sam's motives even after Sam had offered him so much comfort and trust... but he had to be certain.  
  
"You're our best friend, and he betrayed you. He hurt you in ways I can't even... Believe me, Dean being my brother doesn't mean anything. I'm here for you, okay, Cas?"  
  
Cas heaved in a deep breath. This was a bad decision. But it'd been so long and he'd bottled it up so tight, so scared Dean would find out if he ever told anyone what happened on those hunts when Sam was gone, until it had felt less and less like repentance and more like finally being put in his place as the trash he was, the trash Dean told him that he was. Every single conversation he'd ever had for months had been lies upon lies.

If... if Sam was offering to listen, would it be so bad to tell him everything just this once?  
  
He began slowly, warily. The words felt too big in his mouth. "I think... I would like to talk about it. If I can."  
  
Sam nodded, stayed quiet, let him continue.  
  
“When I first arrived at the bunker…”

But his voice caught in his throat after that.

He tried, he truly did. He knew talking about it was supposed to be helpful to him, that he was supposed to be able to let it all out and let the truth be known and…

But it was all too close and it felt too much like making excuses. He started, stopped again, and tried to catch his breath before he could be too overwhelmed - it hurt, in ways he hadn't ever fathomed, to recount this and try to remember to tell the truth, to remember throughout that Sam wouldn't tell Dean or punish him himself for saying something wrong. He thought it might have been cathartic, painless.  
  
"I’m sorry. I don’t think I can. One day, but… I can’t, I’m so sorry, Sam. I’m not making excuses; I know what I did in the past was wrong and I _will_ make it up to you, but I can’t talk about this.” There was even some wild, unthinking part of him that still suspected perhaps this was just another well-orchestrated torture, no matter how firmly he tried to reject that idea. He shivered at the thought.  
  
Sam noticed and offered his hand out to Cas, who grabbed onto it like a limpet, grateful for the grounding contact.  
  
"But I never meant to hurt Dean yesterday. I didn’t forget the hex bag on purpose, I didn’t want demons to find him, I didn’t… You do believe me, Sam," he said, upward lilt at the end making it sound more like a question than a statement. He knew his words might not have made much sense to Sam, but he had to get them out. "I would never harm Dean, not intentionally."  
  
"I know. I believe you." Sam's thumb stroking across the back of his hand was a comfort.   
  
It was too much for him. He reached out for a hug, a little afraid to ask in case it would still be too 'awkward', and he was never more grateful than in that moment when Sam reached back and folded him into his arms.  
  
"Thank you," he mumbled a little wetly into Sam's shoulder. It was so different from Dean's embraces. No threat of future hurt, no 'shut up and stop whining'. Just undeserved, uncomplicated, sorely desired comfort.   
  
He sunk closer to Sam and felt, for the first time in what seemed like years, safe.

 

* * *

 

  
Three in the morning and Dean was walking through the hospital halls.  
  
It was easy enough to break in - they'd all done it before, being hunters. Too many creepy crawlies took up residence in hospitals for it  _not_ to be an essential skill.  
  
Not that Cas was technically a creepy crawly, he supposed. Maybe once upon a time, but not now.  
  
If anyone stopped to ask him what he was doing, Dean didn't think he'd have the capacity to even make up a lie. He had no idea what he was doing. But maybe it was some need to see just what had spurred Sam to turn his back on his own brother - yet  _again,_  some voice in his head said - for someone who betrayed them, someone who'd ultimately do it all over again, first chance they got.  
  
Power hungry, manipulative, scheming ex-angel, the image only made Dean's rage bubble in his gut -- but that was the last thing he saw when he reached Cas' bed.  
  
It knocked the breath out of him.  
  
Cas looked  _broken_.  
  
He was sleeping. His face was thin, not quite gaunt but with dark purple shadows under the eyes that hinted at exhaustion. His arms, laid out by his sides over the blanket and covered in bruises of varying stages, led to long IV lines and drips hanging by his bedside. Dean could account for almost every mark, every splash of blue and black and greenish yellow, because he'd put them all there himself. And yet it felt like he was only _now_ seeing Cas for the first time - like coming out of a trance, some thick cloud of anger and resentment and  _hatred_  that hung over his senses.  
  
He couldn't move. He was frozen by the curtain that draped around the edges of Cas' bed, offering the illusion of privacy.  
  
For a moment he thought Cas had woken - a soft sound of distress from the bed, something that sounded just slightly like Dean's name, though he might have imagined it. Cas' eyebrows drew tight even in sleep, and the steady rhythm of his chest rising in breath suddenly hitched. Another whimper, then Cas lay still again.  
  
Fuck.  
  
This wasn't some monster ruthlessly vying for power and the end of humanity, or some traitor pretending to be Dean's friend and worming his way past all Dean's defences just to ruin his life. This was  _Cas_ , crumpled and human and beaten half to death, so scared of  _Dean_ that even sleep didn't offer peace.  
  
It was so far from what Dean had been seeing in his head, and from what Dean had  _made himself_ see in Cas, that he would have laughed if it didn't make him feel so sick.  
  
He –  _he_ had done this to Cas. To someone he used to call his best friend. He'd made himself into the stuff of Cas' fucking nightmares. And he never realised exactly how much he'd gone off the rails the entire time.  
  
Dean crept closer and picked up the clipboard from the end of the bed.   
  
He'd barely gotten three words in - though even that small glance at the list of documented injuries, doctor's notes, were enough to make his stomach churn and his eyes sting inexplicably - when there was a sound. Cas must have woken up. Shit.  
  
He was a coward. He crammed the clipboard back into its rusted wire basket, wincing at the clatter of plastic and metal that it made, and... left.  
  
Ran out of the hospital like it was the devil on his heels.


	12. Chapter 12

This was exactly what Castiel had been afraid of.  
  
He knew he couldn't stay here forever, as much as this hospital offered him security and safety - there were other sick people here, waiting for beds and it was so unfair that someone as unworthy as him could sit here and enjoy such care while they...  
  
Sam had told him not to think like that. So too had the other doctor he'd seen earlier.  
  
He wrung the blanket in his hands, trying to focus on what he was being told. He used to be good at that – at following orders, listening when his faults and failings were listed in excruciating detail - but not anymore. These words washed over him in a confusing blur, things about 'options' and 'facilities' and 'evaluation' that he could never quite grasp. There were people who kept asking who had hurt him. People who kept saying they could help him heal, help him be safe. People who kept asking him stupid questions that they must have  _known_  by now he couldn't answer.  
  
"I don't know," he repeated for the tenth time. "Can you please wait until my friend gets here?"  
  
They drifted away, muttering concerned things, sometimes leaving leaflets on the side table that he very stubbornly refused to look at. Despite everything he still held an inexplicable scorn for what the Winchesters called 'civilians' - good-willed but ignorant, unable to comprehend the full complexity of what Cas was going through. It was an unfair sentiment but as far as he was concerned, it was  _true_. They couldn't help him, much as they tried, and that was the fact of the matter.  
  
But now their meddling had led to being offered  _homes_ ,  _institutions_ , places that were  _not and never going to be_  where he belonged. That same doctor had come by so many times trying to interrogate him on the state of his life. As if he would willingly tell her about what had happened. As if all her medical procedures and tests and scans hadn't already revealed everything she needed to know, and more.  
  
It'd brought him to frustrated tears more than once, as weak as it made him feel. He couldn't go back to the bunker, where Dean would be lying in wait, but the thought of being locked away in another hospital like the one where he'd been left with a hallucination of the devil and only a demon as a caretaker...   
  
He didn't want to consider it.  
  
Sam would surely know what to do. And if Sam decided Cas needed to go, then Cas would go. 

The thought stung more than he expected.  


* * *

 

Sam did arrive, but he looked shaken.  
  
"I, um, Cas --" he stuttered, anxious in a way that diffused through to Cas' own mood. "Dean's here to see you."  
  
Cas blinked. Shocked to silence.  _Dean_?  
  
He was shaking his head before he realised he was even doing it.  
  
Sam's hand quickly closed over his, the same comforting gesture as always. "You don't have to see him if you don't want to, okay? It's completely up to you. I can tell him to shove off, no problem. But this might be really important, and... I think it's something you need to hear. I'll be here the whole time. He won't hurt you, he just needs to talk to you."  
  
Did Sam not realise that Dean's words could wound as well?  
  
"You said he wouldn't ever come here," Cas hissed, clutching Sam's hand harder. "Why is he here?"  
  
"Please just trust me with this. If anything goes wrong, he'll be out of here in no time. I promise."  
  
Cas noticed he didn't actually answer the question, but he – slowly, reluctantly - eventually nodded. This was Sam, after all.  
  
Sam turned away and gestured to what must have been Dean outside in the hallway. Cas shut his eyes and tried to breathe, but nothing prepared him for seeing Dean again.  
  
"Dean," he greeted, voice quiet, eyes downcast to the yellowing hospital sheets. He couldn't look at Dean's face, not if he'd see those features twisted in rage all over again.   
  
"Cas." The sound of Dean's voice was almost foreign to him now, especially so soft like it sounded now. "I'm probably the last person you want to see right now, huh?"  
  
There was the sound of rustling and Dean fell quiet again. Cas could feel his eyes all over him, and drew his arms in closer around his sides. He did trust Sam, he would have placed his life in Sam's hands without a second thought, but... why was he being put through this again?  
  
As if summoned by Cas' thoughts, Sam came over to hold him tightly, the contact unspeakably comforting. "Shh, hey. It's okay, Cas. You're safe."

"I shouldn't have come here. Just making this worse." Dean's voice turned to a hiss, and Cas flinched. This was it, this was the Dean he had come to know well: the angry, vicious, violent one, with fists and steel-capped boots.  
  
Cas heard his footsteps as Dean came closer. He wasn't... frightened, exactly, though he was inwardly furious that Dean could still reduce him to this sobbing, breath-hitching, pathetic, squirming  _thing_  through his mere presence. He was supposed to be better than this.  
  
Something waved under his nose, where he stared down at the bed.  
  
Something achingly familiar. The wooden box he'd thrown away so long ago.  
  
That made him look up. His wide eyes shot up to Dean's immediately. "Where did you --?"  
  
"Sam found it in the plants under your window, when he was doing the garden last week," Dean explained quickly. "Told him I'd give it back to you. So."  
  
Cas frowned, both bewildered and horrified. "You were going to punish me for it."  
  
Dean didn't reply. Cas felt dizzy.  
  
"That's not why I'm here," he finally answered, sounding frustrated. "I knew this was a bad idea, I... Jesus."  
  
Cas watched Dean run a hand through his hair, knuckles white with agitation. He saw Dean's glance towards Sam, some kind of plea for assistance. Sam shook his head - Dean was on his own.  
  
"It's yours, Cas. Keep it. Take care of it." Dean pushed the box abruptly into his lap, the movement making Castiel flinch. He reached for the box's latch with trembling fingertips, stunned to silence when he saw everything still lying inside - scattered but intact, all the tiny possessions he'd stolen away from the forest surrounding the bunker like a compulsive magpie.

They were supposed to be a comfort. But, with the knowledge of what Dean was planning all this time, they were a stain in his shaking hands.  
  
Dean continued, but only once Cas had collected himself enough to listen again.   
  
"Cas, I want to apologise." He coughed into his sleeve, looked down into his feet, then swallowed. "For everything I've done. There's no excuse. I know I can't make up for it, 'cause let's be real here --" he paused, looked back up at Cas, then went on, "-- the things I did to you, I deserve to be thrown back into the Pit for the rest of time."  
  
Cas couldn't look away, as if Dean's eyes - red-rimmed, bloodshot - were pulling him in.  
  
"And there's something else I've gotta say. I know there's no way to fix it all, but I'm still gonna try. So, I'm gonna... I'm moving out of the bunker, 'least for as long as you want to stay there. It's only fair. Sam'll take care of you, he's a good kid, and you deserve somewhere safe. I'm not going to go back there, I promise you. I've already told Sam - he's gonna change the locks, whatever you need, okay?" Dean forced a smile. "I'm not gonna let myself do this to you ever again. I swear."  
  
Dean looked away and that broke the spell. Cas digested the words slowly, unable to believe his ears - there had to be some kind of catch, some kind of test of his loyalty, if this was anything at all like the pattern he'd grown to know so intimately well.   
  
"You -- Do you want me to forgive you?" Cas asked uneasily, fingers twitching on the bedspread.   
  
Dean made an odd face, one that Cas didn't quite know how to read. He looked... sad.  
  
"That's something you gotta do on your own terms," he finally said.   
  
Cas nodded, but didn't understand. The silence that settled over them all was uneasy, and he knew he'd said something wrong again, but neither brother commented on what had just happened. Finally, Dean turned away and made to leave the room, given permission by a small nod from Sam.   
  
"Wait," Cas called in an impulsive moment of courage, stopping Dean in his tracks. "You should take this. I don't want it." He pushed the box towards Dean. The final reminder of what had happened between them, what _Dean_ had made happen between them. He didn’t want it. Those trinkets he’d once treasured - they weren’t a comfort, not any more.  
  
Dean stared down at it in confusion, then something in his features cleared and he nodded slowly. "Okay. Sure."   
  
Then he left. With no commotion, no comment, no punishment, taking Cas' box with him.  
  
Cas looked up at Sam, who looked back at him, then threw his arms tightly around the giant of a man's shoulders.  
  
Later -- later, he would realise the  _weight_  of everything that had just transpired in those short minutes, and perhaps it would break him. But right now, all he needed to know was that he was safe, here with Sam and nothing else but a collection of scars that might finally get the chance to heal.  
  
It was finally the end.


End file.
